


Good Tidings

by dazedog (Ayanon)



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-12-27 23:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayanon/pseuds/dazedog
Summary: "I know he could be awful towards other children, but he always had a liking for me."De Sardet and Constantin, from the beginning to the end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this story will not be romantic in nature, so this chapter can be read as a collection of childhood shenanigans.

The first lesson any aspiring merchant will learn is that the Congregation rules above all. The Nauts control the sea, no doubt, but few factions have the influence and wealth of a merchant prince.

It comes as no surprise that people discuss these princes and their families, and there is an abundance of gossip regarding Constantin d'Orsay from the moment he is born.

They also talk of De Sardet, his younger cousin and polar opposite, considerate where Constantin is selfish, discreet where he is boisterous. 

It doesn't mean much for the first years of his life. All he knows is that she is _ there_, from the moment he can think. 

He is five years old when he first comes to appreciate it. 

The day starts exciting enough, with a carriage ride through the bustling city, right into Sérène's heart, as Father calls it. 

Indeed, when Constantin sneaks away to climber up a stone wall he can see everything. From their own home to the fishermen's huts, right down to the harbor and the sea. Several ships lie at anchor, many of them here just for Father and his meeting. 

"Constantin."

He turns to look over his shoulder.

De Sardet is trying to crawl up the wall, staring at him with big eyes and a small smile tugging at her lips. She stretches out her arms.

Constantin jumps down and gingerly pulls her away from the rock. 

"We mustn't get our clothes dirty," he says and makes sure to brush off all the dirt on the front of her dress.

She doesn't seem happy, however, and points at the wall. "I want to see," she says and grabs his hand, and Constantin complies. 

De Sardet is heavier than he expected, though he doesn't comment on it. Mother disallowed it, and she was strict about the rules she set, though Father came up with more of them. 

Instead he lets her climb on his back, and she has almost made it to the top when his aunt walks out into the yard. 

"You are incredibly lucky your father didn't see you," she sighs and takes De Sardet and Constantin by their hands to lead them inside. 

It is a good day, right up until they attend a pleasant afternoon tea - pleasant for the adults, because sitting around doing nothing _ at all _ is the most boring thing Constantin has ever had to endure in his life.

He would rather talk with the many guests around him, but the look Father sends him from across the table keeps Constantin glued to the seat cushion.

_ No kicking your legs, Constantin, and smile when someone greets you. Greet them back, but do not talk over adults when they speak, and do not start singing. _

No, the day isn't pleasant at all, but Constantin wants to sit at the table with the grown-ups and the older children, even if that means he has no one to talk to. 

"Stubborn," Father calls him, but he uses the word for anyone who isn't De Sardet, even for adults, though Constantin isn't allowed to mention that, either.

"My little sister is just the same," the girl to Constantin's left says and smiles brightly, not at him but at his father. "I am certain they would get along well."

"No," Constantin says, and she laughs like he made the funniest joke in the world.

The creases on father's brow deepen, and that has never meant anything good, so Constantin chews on his lip and watches the girl instead. 

She neatly folds her embroidered napkin before she turns her attention back to him, and this time her smile isn't quite as bright.

"Do you know who my sister is, young Lord d'Orsay?"

Constantin squints. He cannot even remember learning _ her _ name, which means that she is less important to his parents than other guests, but she is not much older than him. Yet she talks like she knows everything, especially when she whispers to her friend who smells like she fell into a bowl of rose water. 

He decides he doesn't like either of them, but he is not allowed to say such things, so he simply shoves a spoonful of lemon cake in his mouth. 

That does not please Father, either, but his long silences are better than long lectures, and Napkin Girl soon turns back to her friend. 

He is still chewing when he hears his name again, almost inaudible above the chatter.

De Sardet stands behind his chair, her hands playing with the frilly hem of her now white and spotless dress. She is smiling at him and he skids around to return the gesture.

He is not the only one who notices her. 

"What is that on her face?" Napkin Girl whispers, and her friend giggles. 

De Sardet's smile falters. Her hand slowly wanders to her jaw to scratch at the strange texture covering her skin. 

Napkin Girl narrows her eyes and looks thoroughly confused, but she snatches her doily from the table and starts wiping across De Sardet's cheek.

De Sardet stares at Constantin, her eyes welling up.

Constantin thinks the mark is strange, too, but De Sardet does not deserve to be treated like that, and in a fit of anger he twists the stupid girl's plait and pulls until she shrieks. 

His impulsive act of heroism gets him banned from the room. 

"It was a mistake to bring him here," his father says as the nursemaid drags De Sardet and Constantin to the children's room next door. To the two brothers who believe belching contests are a fun pastime, and the girl who keeps wailing because she wants to go home. 

De Sardet sits down on the chair next to him, and for a moment she studies Constantin as if she has to decide whether she wants to be angry with _ him _, but finally she looks satisfied. She holds out her hands. 

It is the embroidered napkin the girl had used to attack her, and Constantin has to grin.

De Sardet answers with a lopsided smile and takes a bite of her lemon cake. Immediately she scrunches up her face and spits it out again, in a way that would have made Mother gag. 

He laughs, reaches over and takes what is left of the slice, deciding that he likes his cousin. 

* * *

His parents refuse to let him join another banquet, and after yesterday's disaster Constantin would prefer an afternoon without their trite talks. 

But then his aunt insists on having a portrait drawn

And so he is forced to spend another day sitting still on a fancy red cushion. This time he gets to share his pain with De Sardet, however, and Constantin wants to be a proper older cousin. 

De Sardet has been put into a light yellow dress that looks a lot sunnier than her disposition. She reaches for her cheek again and again, scratching over the mark as if she could rid herself of it.

"Please hold still, Milady," the painter says for the tenth time since he started his work, and Constantin can tell that he is growing aggravated. 

De Sardet ignores him. 

Constantin grabs her hand and covers it with both of his. For a moment there is a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but she lets him lower them into her lap. 

"No scratching," he says softly and pokes her cheek until she turns her head just like the painter had asked. He takes his chance and brushes his finger over it. It feels like a blend of roots and moss, spreading across her lower jaw and neck like a vine. 

"No scratching," she orders. "Or I bite."

Constantin hastily draws back, though he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. 

She is as peculiar as the roots growing on her face, but Constantin likes the strange. 

"Constantin is so well-behaved whenever my daughter is present," his aunt says during dinner.

"May I remind you of yesterday's buffet?" Father asks sharply. 

"He was perfectly calm after they changed rooms. Perhaps he is simply too young to come along for such long periods of time."

Three pairs of eyes are set on Constantin, though he pretends he is too occupied with his food to notice. 

“Your daughter was able to behave.” Father sighs and sips at his wine. "She could be a good influence.” 

Constantin is not quite sure how De Sardet is supposed to help him, because she is a whole year younger than him and does not talk much, but he nods enthusiastically.

"It is a wonder the girl doesn't act up, with the lack of rules you set," Mother says. 

Both of his parents frown when Constantin snickers.

Somehow watching her becomes a habit.

She is quick at memorizing letters and words, and soon she can be found sticking her nose into all the books that fall into her hands.

Adults love her good manners, but Constantin loves the way she giggles at the silly faces he pulls whenever he finds her looking at him instead of her books. 

Constantin prefers the tales of heroes and adventurers, and he reads each and every one that he can find among the boring history books in the library. De Sardet soon picks up on his new pastime.

“Read to me," she says, shutting her own book. 

And of course Constantin obliges, creates voices for all the characters, sings with a crooked tone until she covers her ears, pauses dramatically when they get to the exciting parts. 

Whenever Constantin tires of reading they explore the manor. The archives, the gardens, the busy kitchen. Each time someone shoos them away. 

They end up in the library again, and Constantin has just opened another book when De Sardet points at the ceiling. 

"What is up there?" she asks. 

He has no answer. None of the adults are around to help, so they take matters in their own hands. De Sardet finds a broom and Constantin pushes a chair to the strange hatch. Hitting the latch with the broom takes a bit of practice, but at last it opens. They cough as dust and spider webs rain upon them, followed by an awful noise as the ladder shoots towards the ground. 

De Sardet gasps and throws her arms around him, as if she could shield him from harm. 

He laughs and twirls her around, mostly so he can be the first to go. "Be careful," he says, "and wait until I tell you to follow."

The old wooden ladder creaks dangerously under his weight, but he makes it safely to the top. He has barely turned around when her head peeks through the entrance. He does not have the time to complain, because she shoves the broomstick through the opening and climbs right after. 

Despite the light seeping through the opening they cannot see far, and the air is heavy from the layers of dust. 

“Eww,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants. 

De Sardet giggles, but she crawls forward to lean against his side before she reaches for the broom. It turns out that the stick is too long to swipe the floor with it. She huffs and lets it clatter back to the floor. Neither of them can sit fully upright, yet it seems perfect to him. Adults cannot follow him here, even if they shout and fume and threaten.

It is a safe fort amidst enemies. They are two explorers, taking shelter in their hidden tower, a pit of frenzied dragons beneath them.

He tells her as much, and with the way her face lights up it is obvious that she likes the idea.

"I will stay with you," she says.

First they have to clean this place. 

“Here,” Constantin says and pulls off both his shoes and his socks. “For the dust.”

“Eww,” she laughs, but she quickly follows suit.

Together they fumble their way forward and sweep everything they reach out the hole; gilings and spider webs and even a few aged parchments.

They are almost done when a wail of horror echoes from below. A servant of the house has stumbled upon their hideout, and she does not seem as happy about the discovery as De Sardet and him. 

"Look what we found!" De Sardet calls down and waves with one of the scrolls. 

“Get down here,” the maid urges, though the rest of her sentence is drowned out by her terrible coughing.

By the time they have joined her on the ground she has tears in her eyes.

Belatedly he thinks of their dirtied clothes. He wants to apologize, but when he looks at De Sardet and her sorry state he howls with laughter.

To their luck they are brought before his aunt and not his father. 

"We found the storage awfully dirty, so we decided to help," his cousin says and smiles so innocently that Lady De Sardet's expression softens in a way his mother's never does.

"Go and change your attire," she says, “before anyone sees you.”

His aunt is the kindest of them all, even if her smile slips a little when she looks at him.

* * *

The wind is howling in his ears, tearing at his clothes as Constantin climbs higher and higher, past the canopies and roofs usually towering over him.

Somewhere above him he can hear the screeching of seagulls, though he can not look, thanks to the air that drives tears to his eyes. 

His heart races in his chest and warmth radiates through his body, even though his fingers are growing numb as he clings to the rocks jutting out of the wall.

Constantin grins. 

Everything seems so real in this moment - he feels _ alive _, even if he cannot enjoy the view of the city and the sea. A short laugh erupts from his throat, though it is more of a choked gasp than anything else. 

Father had told him to climb the ladder, and so he did. The city wall has no ladder, only very narrow stairs leading down to the markets near the pier, but it was the closest thing Constantin could find. 

He will have to thank him later, once he has made it all the way up. 

And then there is a voice calling his name. Constantin presses himself to the stone, counting to three before he dares to lean back and look down. 

She is nothing more than a blurred speck of color amongst the greys and browns of the ramparts, but the person below most certainly is De Sardet. 

Constantin almost loses his grip. 

"What are you doing here?" he shouts. 

She answers, but the wind carries away her words before he can hear them. 

Constantin tries to blink the tears away, to no avail. He presses his forehead to the rugged surface and groans. She has no incentive for being here, following him to such a dangerous place. 

He had come here because of Father, not to lead her to their next adventure. If she slipped, if she _ fell _ he had no chance of saving her. His arms and legs seem to lose their strength, his knees start to shake. 

"Go back!" he yells, though the only answer he receives is another gust of wind. 

His previous excitement is tapering off rapidly now, giving way to utter dread as he considers his options. There is no way to tell how long De Sardet can go on even once he reaches her. 

Constantin needs to save her.

Slowly, very slowly, he turns his back to the wall before he slides down to sit on the step. 

She must still be there, she needs to stay still. 

He exhales. Draws another breath. Tries again. "Cousin, stay where you are!" 

There is no answer. He digs his nails into the surface and peers over the edge. De Sardet has moved closer and Constantin forgets to breathe as she uses one of her bony hands to brush her hair out of her face.

“Don’t!” Constantin waves his arm, hoping she understands the gesture.

She waves back and calls his name, but she stays where she is. 

He grits his teeth and slides down the stairs, step for step, as quickly as he dares. She extends her hand towards him and they sigh when they meet. 

They can get down, they _ will _get down. 

Constantin rubs his sleeve over his face, and finally he can see clearly. The bright blue sea, the cloudless sky and the rooftops below. Some of the higher buildings are on their level, and Constantin spots a woman gawking at him. He puts on an innocent smile and waves.

Then he turns to De Sardet, staring at him with wide eyes. 

He squeezes her hand. "Let's go back."

The moment he sets foot on the ground he collapses, dragging her down with him.

"Father…" he begins, yet he stops when De Sardet bumps her head against his shoulder. 

"I know," she murmurs. "I heard."

Constantin does not ask further. "Perhaps we shouldn't tell anyone of this."

She makes a small sound, a lot like a sniff. He is not sure if it means she agrees, but he takes her hand in his. They stay like this until a passersby shoos them away, saying that children should not wander around so late during the day.

Constantin brushes off the dirt and weaves his fingers through his hair as they walk through the streets. Most of the merchants have already closed their shops, yet De Sardet pulls him along as if she worries that he will vanish the moment she leaves him out of sight. 

"I know the way back, fair cousin," he says softly. 

De Sardet only tightens her grip. "Don't do such a stupid thing again."

Constantin stays quiet. He cannot tell her of the excitement he had felt while climbing. She would believe him insane, and rightly so. 

She does not let go of his hand until they are home.

* * *

They are ten when they first meet Kurt.

De Sardet and Constantin are the oldest amongst their group of five. Twins from a wealthy merchant family and a diplomat's daughter called Madie, De Sardet and him.

They are waiting in the shade of the ancient oak tree, the one Constantin climbed not too long ago in order to escape De Courcillon's endless monologue about the Third Prince's extraordinary cartography skills.

Right now he can only pay attention to the man standing at the other side of the training grounds. He has his back turned to them, but his armor glints in the sun. A sword - a _ longsword _\- is bound to his waist. 

His heart leaps and Constantin has to stop himself from bouncing along with it. He cannot help rocking back and forth on his heels, however, and De Sardet grins as she watches him. 

For whatever reason the other children do not seem quite as excited for their first lesson, nor do they seem appreciative of their teacher.

"He looks so old," Willard says. 

"He must be, if he is our instructor," his brother says. "His helmet looks old, too." 

"Do you think he is hiding something underneath?" Madie asks. 

"Maybe he simply doesn't want to show his head," De Sardet says, ever the emphatic one. 

"He might have a really ugly scar or two," Constantin suggests, earning himself a frown from her. He shrugs.

"He's a mercenary, no? I heard that the Coin Guard will sell their sword to anyone, even Sérène's enemies if they pay enough." 

"Father would dispose of them very quickly if they did that," Constantin says, crossing his arms like Father does whenever he prepares for another lecture. "And he surely wouldn't choose just anyone to teach us something important as swordfighting."

The twins exchange glances and lower their heads, and Constantin sends another stern glance at the other girl, just for good measure.

By now he can tell that long stares often end with unkind words and mocking smiles. 

The best thing about adults is that they don't care about De Sardet's mark. They call her dutiful, resourceful, talented, and it fills Constantin with a sense of pride that she is not only his cousin but his friend. 

His only friend. 

Other children are vicious, both to De Sardet and to him, but he repays each of their cruelties in kind. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. 

Most have learned to hold their tongues by now, even if Constantin suspects that they fear his name more than Constantin himself. 

It turns out that Kurt has a rather nasty scar, right on the bridge of his nose, and Constantin is too curious to care about proper manners. "Where did you get that scar?" 

Kurt’s mouth turns into a thin line, and for a moment Constantin is sure he will be thrown out of the lesson, but then Kurt picks up a mail shirt and says, "Years of hard work and a few mistakes. Don't act stupid and stay out of trouble if you don't want them. Here, try to carry this."

Constantin almost topples over when Kurt steps back. Someone behind him snickers. 

"No laughing, or you will run a round while wearing it," Kurt growls. 

To his great disappointment Kurt only allows them to use wooden swords and staves. To Constantin's absolute delight, however, he wins all of his mock fights, even against De Sardet.

She seems uncharacteristically nervous whenever an opponent closes in, barely holding her own and Constantin has to pace along the field to keep himself from interfering. 

Kurt is not fond of letting them pause for too long, barking orders a little too roughly for poor Madie who falters with each word, though Constantin is too busy watching his own posture to spare her any niceties. 

To his surprise it is De Sardet who gives up first, red-faced and looking slightly dejected. She offers him a quick nod of her head, however, and after training Constantin walks over to pat her shoulder. 

"Do not worry, fair cousin, I will protect you from our enemies!" He stabs the air in front of him, just like Kurt had taught them this morning, and when he looks back at De Sardet she is smiling again.

"Until we are the best fighters in Sérène," she says. 

"In the whole world!" he exclaims and swings his sword.

In the end it is Constantin who has to run with the coat of chainmail after a stern lecture about the proper usage of weapons. 

Their group does not survive for long.

Madie leaves the city after a particularly damning account regarding her father and forged documents comes to light. 

The twins believe that Constantin does not notice their quiet sneers behind his back. Something about him seems to amuse them, though neither dares to tell him outright.

One time, after a particularly unfortunate sword blow to the stomach that leaves Constantin heaving on the ground, Willard has the gall to laugh. De Sardet drives him away with her weapon, but their amusement stings longer and worse than the bruise on his skin.

Shortly afterwards the twins are struck with an arduous case of food poisoning brought on by poison oak, if the gossips among the servants are to be believed. They do not come back to court, and while he has little concern for either tattletales or the twins the same cannot be said of others.

It causes such an uproar that Constantin's mother has to step in and denounce the ones accusing him of the deed. Quietly, of course, as is her way of handling matters, yet even her words cannot travel faster than exciting rumors. 

And so people stare and point at him, but Kurt and De Sardet are at his side, and that is all he needs to be happy. 

* * *

Constantin is thirteen when he comes to resent his family. 

It starts with a sleepless summer night spent alongside his cousin.

The humid air carried from the sea makes it sheer impossible to fall asleep, and the cloudless sky provides a much better view than his ceiling. Both his and De Sardet’s rooms face away from the city and its streets, and no one tends to the mansion's gardens after dark, so Constantin has an easy time climbing the trellis connecting their balconies.

De Sardet is already waiting for him, dangling her legs from the balcony's banister, more interested in the stars than in him. That, or she is still angry for his latest mishap.

"Father is thinking of moving my room downstairs." 

De Sardet hums and stretches her legs.

"Is that all you will say about the matter?" Constantin leans forward until his elbows are resting on the railing. "We won’t be able to talk as freely again lest my father or his guards hear us. It might be less of a hassle to flee, provided that we can get past Father's office. Maybe there is a positive side to it, after all." 

"I am glad that we are both still alive and well," she says, and her reprimanding tone causes him to pause, if only for a moment.

"So am I." He rests his chin on his palm. "Now if you would be so kind as to remove _ yourself _ from danger I'd be much obliged."

She bites her lip and swings her legs back to his side. "De Courcillon says that falls from this height are unlikely to be deadly."

"He says a whole lot when the day is long, fair cousin."

"I know of someone else who does."

He raises a brow and smiles innocently. "Who could that be? Pray tell, I'm listening."

She is trying to hide the grin spreading across her face now, but that is not yet good enough. 

"He must be a smart man if you compare him to our master."

"He is earnest and smart when he wants to be, though he also has a tendency to exaggerate."

"There are worse faults to have, wouldn't you say? Imagine a cowardly hero, or an irredeemably evil one. We would make for far better leaders." 

She is grinning openly now, and he grabs her hand to spin her around, pretending to wield a sword. 

“We shall rescue princes and princesses and defeat the evil dragon gods! Our enemies shall see no mercy!” 

Strangely she is silent for a moment. "I might have to disagree with your methods, oh Chosen One."

He stops twirling them around. "Say, is my companion Sir de Courcillon in disguise? I believe I have heard this phrase before." 

De Sardet raises a brow. "He is right about this. Violence cannot be the best answer to everything, Constantin," she chides softly, her voice so much kinder than his father's, but irritating all the same. "At least it shouldn't be our first."

"You did not take any lessons from Mother, then. I do see why Father and De Courcillon want you to become a diplomat, however."

She looks at him, tilting her head ever so slightly. "You disapprove?" 

"Of you becoming a diplomat? Of course not," he says, and he means it.

She is far too kind to become an unscrupulous merchant or a scheming politician. "You will be the most charming diplomat this city has ever seen!" 

De Sardet grins and shakes her head, but the answer seems to satisfy her. She pats his arm. "Then you will become the new Prince, and together we will find a better answer."

He knows she means to sound comforting, yet Constantin finds himself growing upset. "You might want to wish me luck, then, because I am not so certain that my father will be pleased with _ any _ answer I find," he says, harsher than he wants to. 

A good prince did not have merely a single friend, not as the child of an eloquent merchant prince with as many peers as gold coins in his treasury.

Alas, Constantin was a bad prince.

It is hard not to notice, even without the hushed whispers and pitying looks from the people outside his family. 

They do not pity _ him_, of course.

"Sir De Courcillon-" 

“Our dear teacher likes studious pupils, not the ones questioning his words, and do not tell me you failed to notice."

De Sardet is incredible at watching. She studies every visitor that enters their home, keeps up with all the names, listens when Constantin has long since turned his attention elsewhere.

She mirrors their compliments and kind words and dutifully recounts the endless volumes of historical dates De Courcillon prattles on about. Much to his personal chagrin she also likes to cite their teacher's empty platitudes. 

It is thoroughly _ annoying_.

An uncomfortable silence settles between them. 

It is not her fault, not really, and he knows, yet somehow that makes it all the worse.

Finally he sighs and curves his mouth into a smile. "I wish you good luck on your travel. May you come home safe and quickly. It will be awfully dull without you."

Her voyages rarely last longer than a mere few days, yet it feels like an eternity whenever she travels while he remains home, trapped between his father's austerity and De Courcillon's neverending monologues.

There is no need to tell her, for she knows just as well as he does, even if she might not understand.

They part with a hug. 

He slips back into bed, yet sleep will not find him, so he gathers his favorite novels from beneath his bed and reads until dawn. 

The morning has an unwelcome surprise for him, as the first person to greet him is not his maid.

"Good day, Constantin," Mother says. "Follow me."

She promptly sets off towards her workroom, not even allowing him to change his attire or put on his shoes. 

"Good morning," he mumbles as he trails along, rubbing his arms. 

The ground is cold beneath his feet, though it is not the reason Constantin shivers as he trails behind.

Early meetings with Mother always spell trouble. 

She moves with grace and unhurried steps, quite unlike his father who struts with a straight posture, yet always looks like is on the run, invisible wolves at his heels.

Her study is as tidy as ever, massive bookshelves lining up to both sides, giving it a dark, oppressive air. At the end of the room sits her desk, and though it is lit up by the warm morning sun Constantin wants to flee. Mother's room has always unnerved Constantin, even before he had understood what sort of dealings his mother dabbled in. 

She gestures for him to sit in the chair facing hers, and he wonders just how many people have sat in the same seat, terrified at the woman without emotions as she passed judgment over their lives.

"I have heard of your new pastime," she says. "The lower markets are an interesting place, indeed. When I was your age I would have loved to explore the sewers and the commoner's homes."

That sounds like a lie, for sewers are the last place he could ever imagine his mother in, but he does not press the issue. "I have never stayed past midnight," he says quickly, "and I never tell anyone who I am."

"Of course you don't, dear. That does not mean that no one knows who you are, however. Still, I will allow you to roam the streets with your friends, and your father will hear not hear of your forays from me."

"Really?" 

"I have a suggestion for you; a trade, if you will. A guest will arrive in about two days' time."

Constantin swallows. "So you want me to watch them?" 

"You are such a clever young boy," she says.

“Who are they?”

“Someone who might affect the future of your cousin."

Constantin flinches as the door opens. 

"Ah, you are here," his father says, not even a hint of a smile on his face when he spots Constantin. His gaze lingers on Constantin's nightwear and unkempt hair before he closes the door behind him and crosses the room with a few deliberate steps, coming to stand in front of Mother's desk. 

Constantin has to bend his neck to an uncomfortable angle to see his face. 

"We were just talking about his new responsibilities," Mother says without looking up.

Constantin scowls. It is impressive how his parents tear each other apart in private, yet they protect their pretty illusion of unity with all they have. Even towards him. Especially towards him.

"Most importantly it is time for him to stop relying on his cousin," Father says, like Constantin isn't sitting directly next to him, perfectly able to follow their conversation. "My niece will be the only one to attend conferences if this continues."

His mother does him the favor of addressing him directly, though her attempt at sounding like she believes him capable of understanding leaves much to be desired. "What your father means to say, Constantin, is that your adventures are not very appreciated by the general public."

_ Then you should have gotten rid of the witnesses, _ Constantin wishes to say, but his father is present, so he only kicks his legs up and down underneath the table and holds his tongue.

"They are self-indulgent antics," Father says. "Do not let the boy believe he is living in a fairytale."

"I'm aware," Constantin murmurs.

They have had this conversation before, yet it never changes. 

"Apparently not," Father growls. "Otherwise you would stop your truancy. Swordplay alone might impress a few ladies at court, but it is not how we contribute to the Congregation. You are not some farmer's boy whose only responsibility are the pigs in his barn."

"Then let me join your meetings again. I can keep up just as well as my cousin," Constantin says, trying to keep the annoyance creeping into his voice at bay. "It has been a long time since I last attended one."

"And for good reason," his father says.

For once he is right, but Constantin cannot bring himself to say it. 

Instead he straightens his back. "I insist," he says, forceful enough to make his mother look up from her documents. He fixes his eyes on her. She nods.

“He will receive another chance.”

The reminders that follow are trite phrases and warnings Constantin has heard a thousand times before. 

The next day he is allowed to partake in the Congregation's gathering.

It is not the first he joins, but it is the first he spends an actual effort on, nodding and frantically moving his quill across the paper, trying to keep up with every name that is mentioned.

His mother even invites him to her workroom after their visitors have left. 

"You did well to note the names you heard today. The more contacts you keep the better," she says, which would be a compliment were she not speaking like Constantin was an infant again. 

"But note that friendships only last for a time." She leans over her desk to rest her hand on his. "Both in and out of Court. Even family can mean more grief than happiness. It is good to learn this lesson early."

Mother gives him a small smile, the one she wears for everyone, and does not realize that he has long since learnt his lessons from her.

Just as Mother predicts De Sardet and her mother return two days later along with a guest, a tall woman with sharp eyes and a surprisingly kind smile.

"My family's name is Rehan, Your Excellency," she says when Constantin greets her. "I am honored to have been invited to Court."

"It is very likely that Lady Rehan will stay for a while," his aunt says, and her pleased expression makes his blood run cold. "As your instructor."

"The pleasure is mine, Lady Rehan," Constantin says, folding his arms behind his back like Father does. "Surely you wish to talk to my father."

Rehan's gaze flicks to his aunt before she smiles and nods. 

De Sardet waits until his aunt and Rehan have left the courtyard to greet him with an embrace. 

"Is there something amiss?" she asks, and Constantin wants to curse.

"No," he says, though he cannot meet her eyes.

_ I am supposed to let go of you. _

Constantin does not have the heart to tell her as much, so he chooses the more diplomatic way. 

He avoids her. 

For the first day there is a fiendish joy at her questioning gaze, to have _ her _ be the one to stay in the dark for once. The feeling quickly fades, however, and all he wants is to crawl back to bed and wait for Rehan to leave.

She is a friendly woman, excited to tell more about Theleme and her travels across the continent.

The second day she pulls every face she can think of whenever no one is looking, and it is so unlike her usual demeanor that he has to bite the insides of his cheek to keep from laughing. Still, he remains silent, recalling all of her irritating qualities and his promise to Mother.

On the third day things come to a head during practice. 

Kurt, ever the uncaring brute, pushes Constantin towards the training ring. "Whatever is going on here, I won't let you skip practice. And there's no reason to look smug, Green Blood. You can celebrate once you've won."

Constantin huffs. De Sardet excels at many disciplines, but certainly not at melee, even after three years of training. He wins all of their matches. 

"Your technique is awful, Green Blood," Kurt chides.

His glory is short-lived, because Constantin makes the mistake to say, "As is to be expected."

De Sardet's jaw clenches. Her grip tightens around the hilt of her sword, and Constantin swallows. He drops his sword just as she dashes forward.

"Hey!" Kurt shouts, but they're already running full-speed towards the building. 

Constantin nearly crashes into a training dummy, and he almost collides with a maid as he reaches the stairs. She shrieks but Constantin jumps to the side and ducks beneath her arm.

Another shriek sounds from behind, but he has no time to look back. He skids across the floor, bumps into a door and cuts a corner, and the excitement from before is fading, warping into dread. He is panting now, stumbling up a set of stairs and down the hallway where he almost trips. 

Constantin is about to collapse when the echoes of her steps slow, then fade altogether. 

"Fine," she barks, and a moment later her sword clatters to the ground. 

He is sure that she storms off in the opposite direction, but he doesn't dare to turn back or stop until he is past the next set of stairs. He feels more than a little foolish now, but it is too late for regrets.

Some time during the fourth day the other adults notice their contention.

His aunt dares to chuckle knowingly as if she was in on some private joke, and even De Sardet peers at her with a frown.

To his luck they do not press the issue - Kurt is the only one who gives them a stern talk about teamwork and trust. Then he forces them to run all the way from their home to the docks and back, until neither of them can move a single muscle for a full day. 

On the sixth day De Sardet accompanies the mage on a tour to buy more alchemical ingredients. 

Constantin spends most the day at the market browsing the wares, though he is soon swarmed by a flock of noblemen who hope to become acquaintanced with the prince. He smiles his way through the crowd and their empty phrases, only able to escape once they take shelter from a summer rain.

During the evening Constantin huddles close to the library's window, watches the raindrops pelting the glass. It is calm and terribly _ dull _, right until his gaze falls onto the hatch in the ceiling. 

He smiles. 

As De Sardet and him had grown their old hiding spot had become too cramped several years ago, so they had moved on to different locations; built a hut in the nearest forest, scoured the city for empty buildings with varying success. 

Constantin nearly falls when one of the ladder's steps breaks under his weight, but he grasps the sides in time and pulls himself up, nearly toppling over a book pile once he arrives at the top.

Instead of dust and rotting paper he finds stacks of books, neatly ordered according to topic and alphabet. A pillow and a small lantern are stashed in the darkest corner, and he recognizes a dictionary on seafarer trade routes De Courcillon had lost months ago. 

A door opens and Constantin freezes. 

Two sets of heavy footsteps enter the library, and he does not dare to breathe when he recognizes the muffled voices of Sir de Courcillon and his father. 

He crawls back to the exit, trying to remember the wooden planks that creaked under his weight.

_ They cannot see the ladder just yet. Please, do not let them turn around the corner. _

"It is fortunate that they are close, _ very _ fortunate, even. Yet I fear that other children will not be able to befriend them." 

"_Befriend _ them? Think of the children their age. None of the ones my son hasn't scared away make for good companions. Besides, De Sardet is the only reason he can be somewhat controlled," his father says. "I wish they _ could _ be separated, Courcillon, but as it is we would risk more of his erratic nonsense. It is not as though we haven't tried. My sister still refuses to give up."

Constantin's blood rushes in his ears, so loudly that it is almost impossible to hear more of their conversation.

"De Sardet is a bright girl. It would be a shame to let her talents for both alchemy and magic-" 

One of them moves closer towards the end of the row, stopping just short of its edge. Father would murder him. 

"We can call for teachers and see which one she prefers," Father interrupts. "She is too important to just be sent off to power-hungry vultures or religious fanatics. Imagine her converting to either side. Children her age are still too impressionable."

A heavy book is opened. 

"I might as well rehire Petrus. What she needs are impartial teachers who guide her towards independence. Impartiality. I do not need to remind you why."

"Of course not, Lord d'Orsay. What about your son?"

A scoff answers him. "Gods know what he will do. The best we can hope for is that he will come to imitate her. At the very least Theleme's tenants will ricochet right off his stubborn skull."

Constantin covers his ears. He cannot listen any longer. Tears burn in his eyes and he presses his head against his knees in an effort to stay silent. He is missing something, he just knows it, something about Nauts and the malichor and his aunt, but it all warps together and drowns in a nauseating echo of the same words. 

_ Gods know what he will do. He needs to stop relying on his cousin. I wish they could be separated. _

It is hard to swallow the bile that threatens to rise.

Both De Sardet and him are nothing but pawns to be exchanged with others, strung along like little wooden puppets in colorful costumes, kept in the dark so that they cannot spill any secrets.

Led by the most vile monster of this city, this court that lies in wait like a wreathing, twisting mass made of greedy snakes and lies. 

Constantin does not dare to move, not even to investigate if they are gone, even when his limbs ache and his face presses uncomfortably against the cold floor underneath. 

He lies awake until long after the clock has chimed midnight.

The mage and De Sardet return in the early morning hours, just as Constantin heads out of his chamber. 

He can feel De Sardet's gaze on him, and for a moment he only wishes to greet her with a hug, tell her of the conversation he had overheard. He opens his mouth, but she adjusts her necktie and marches off.

She refuses to acknowledge his existence from then on, not even deigning to look at him during dinner. His aunt and Lady Rehan are chatting animatedly while his parents eat in peace. De Sardet chimes in from time to time, whenever the conversation allows for it, just as one would expect of a well-behaved young lady. 

Constantin stares at his untouched meal. 

He should be happy for his cousin. He should let her decide where she wants to be. He should play the reliable son. 

Everyone at the table goes quiet as Constantin pushes his chair back and stands. 

He reaches for his glass of water. 

De Sardet tilts her head as he slowly circles the table to stand in front of Lady Rehan. She furrows her brows in confusion but forces a smile. 

Father sends him a scathing look across the table, and the knuckles around his wine glass turn so white that Constantin expects it to shatter beneath his touch. 

For the first time in his life Constantin stares back.

He is a bad diplomat, a bad son and a bad cousin, but he will never allow them to drive a wedge between De Sardet and him. Never. 

"I apologize," he says and douses Rehan with his drink.

Constantin is sentenced to eight weeks of house arrest, along with the promise to write a five-page apology letter to Lady Rehan. 

He is a week into his sentence and doodling swords on his third draft when the door opens silently. De Sardet slips inside, carrying one of Kurt's old wooden swords. 

"And what, pray tell, are you planning to do with this old thing?" he asks before he can think better of it. 

"Hit you, unless you decide to tell me what is going on," she says as if it is the most natural thing in the world. 

"I didn't realize you were the sort for aimless violence," he says lightly. "I must have heard wrong when I heard a certain speech that said 'violence is not the answer.'"

She blushes profusely, but raises her chin. "Do not try to skirt around the issue."

"Fine. I am under house arrest, and the same fate awaits you if anyone sees you here," Constantin replies. "Threatening your poor cousin, no less."

"Because you have been ignoring me, _ cousin_."

He has no real answer to give, so he simply scribbles on the paper as if he were terribly preoccupied. 

From the corner of his eyes he can see her tilt her head. Finally she steps closer, and the wood echoes with a wooden sound as it hits the steps. 

_ Clack-clack-clack. _

His parents would have gasped at her lack of suitably aristocratic poise. He smiles.

"Kurt would never forgive you for the gross mistreatment of an innocent weapon."

She lets herself fall in the nearest chair that is not covered with books, crosses her legs and rests the weapon in her lap. "I took this one months ago. Kurt prefers his blunted training weapons, and he already found a replacement."

Constantin puts down his quill, curiosity piqued. "And where would you keep such a ridiculously huge thing?" 

Her smile turns lopsided. "You know as well as I do that we have enough places to hide."

His heart jumps, but he doesn't want to give in just yet. "Well, I won't be able to join you until I've written my sincerest apologies to lady Rohan."

"Rehan," she says and grins when he gives a dismissive wave of his hand. It quickly fades. "You somehow angered both my mother and your parents, as well as embarrassing Lady Rehan. What did she say to anger you?" 

He hesitates, wondering if he should tell her of what he had overheard. What she would think of Father's plans. Of her mother's. Whether she already knows.

"Nothing." He draws circles on the desk, traces the grains of the wood. His tongue feels like lead. If he looks at her now he will tell her the truth.

"Constantin." 

He bites his lip. "She was kind. She did nothing wrong, I promise. My hand was forced by other circumstances, you see. I only acted in our best interest. That is what cousins do, no?" 

She studies him, no doubt trying to read his mind again, but in the end she only smiles and lifts her weapon. "I suppose. But I'd suggest that you brush up on your diplomacy skills, unless you want people to call you a disrespectful dolt."

_ She is your only friend, Constantin. _

"You mean to say they aren't calling me that already? I believe Rehan had stronger words in mind before she left. Besides, you almost sound like father, you know. The only thing you are missing is 'Appreciate what you have been given, son!'" 

She snorts, wholly unladylike, and raises her index finger. "And do not leave the house unless I allow it!"

"One day you will find me chained to one of the desks."

"And as your _ fair cousin _ I will save you. Again." She emphasizes the word with a stabbing motion.

"Do not pretend that you are innocent. You simply behave awfully when no one of importance sees." 

No one but him. 

"True," she says nonchalantly. 

He huffs and dips the quill into the ink bottle.

For a while neither of them speak, though his scribbling is barely more than a string of random words.

Her presence and incessant gaze almost make him squirm, and the moment their eyes meet Constantin jumps up. 

"I am tired of this nonsense. Let us take a break."

De Sardet shakes her head, but she follows him out of the room without any further complaint.

Before he can turn right he is pulled back by his sleeve, and De Sardet shakes her head. She points at the corridor to their left, the one that leads down a tower of stairs to the gardens. He follows her wordlessly. 

She waves at a guard who pretends he doesn't see her - the same man Constantin had paid to make him turn a blind eye whenever he wanted to go for a walk - and turns left again, onto the pathway leading around the house.

It is soon time for dinner, so most servants are busy with the last preparations inside the kitchens. 

De Sardet walks slowly, a few steps ahead, keeping a watchful eye on the windows and the garden. Her hair is braided in an updo, the afternoon sun coloring it in a red tint, and he reaches out to pull lightly at one of the loose strands. 

"I will not allow anyone at court to use you," he says. "Or allow them to talk badly of you."

She turns around for a second, surprised. Then she shakes her head, smiling. "First I'd like _ you _ to talk to me again."

"But I am," he says weakly.

He expects her to make a joke, but she only nods without turning around. 

"Lord d’Orsay? Constantin?" 

They freeze in place. The voice comes from the hallway behind them, no doubt it is one of the maids. 

He looks down the path they're going, then back to the mansion. There is nowhere to hide, only a row of neatly trimmed bushes and the building at their back. 

De Sardet makes the decision for him. She pushes against his chest, causing him to stumble back into the bushes, and not a second too soon.

"Lady De Sardet! Do you happen to know where your cousin is?" 

Constantin holds his breath, staying as still as possible as twigs dig into his back and arms. 

"I'm afraid I don't. I was on my way to the courtyard to train," she says, and Constantin has to smile. She had become a great liar over the years. Few people noticed that her voice dropped in a peculiar manner for every lie. "It seems he's been avoiding me for the last week."

This time the dejection in her voice sounds real, and Constantin almost winces.

Whoever is blocking their way remains quiet for a moment, but when they answer they sound sympathetic. "Don't worry, Miss. He has been rather moody lately. I am certain he will calm down soon."

"I suppose," she says, sounding convincingly unconvinced. "I will stay here and wait for him. If he decides to listen to me I will tell him to find you."

"Thank you, Lady De Sardet."

The footsteps fade. 

Constantin lets out a long breath and wriggles his fingers. "Cousin, if you'd be so kind."

He feels the wooden sword in his palm and grips it tightly so De Sardet can help him up. 

"Well," he says as he pulls twigs and branches from his clothes, "I'd prefer not to do that again." 

She crouches in front of him, her brows wrinkled as her gaze wanders over him. “Are you hurt?” 

“I believe I shall survive.” He twirls a broken sprig carrying a few tiny red berries between his fingers before he slides it into her braid.

Her eyes twinkle as she looks up at him - yes, _ up _, he realizes with a start - and picks a leaf from his hair. “Do you even know what sort of brush this is?”

"Nothing poisonous, I’d wager, otherwise my mother would have plucked all of them already.”

"Rehan would have told you quite a bit if she had stayed. They are used for healing salves, and you might do well to read one of my books on the matter."

"As soon as plants decide to converse with me."

She giggles. 

He missed her. He doesn't want her to go, for any reason. 

"Cousin," he murmurs, pulling her into a hug, "I'm sorry."

She returns the gesture. "It's fine, Constantin, it's fine," she says, "but please find other pranks to play. This wasn't a very funny one."

Constantin breathes out slowly, then nods, his head still resting against her shoulder. 

"Do you want to leave this place?" he asks. 

She pushes at his shoulders to look at him, consternation written on her face. "What?" 

“You have never wished to run away?"

She shakes her head again, pressing her lips together. “Never.” 

Somehow he cannot tell whether he is relieved or disappointed by her answer. He swallows. Her eyes have taken on a strange shine and her fingers dig into his arm, almost painfully so.

"Where would I even go?" she asks. “And why- did you hear of anything?”

"No," Constantin says, cursing his curiosity getting the better of him, and that she is so good at guessing the truth. 

"Did my mother speak to you?"

She shakes his shoulders, only faintly, but her strange intensity is starting to unnerve him. 

"No, _ no, _" he says. "Nothing of the sort."

He needs to change the subject. "Truth be told, I considered the idea."

"To leave?"

"Now, now, do not believe that I would ever leave my fair cousin behind. Your aunt would disagree with letting you go, and my mother wouldn't bat an eyelash. As for my father… Well, he would do the same as he always does. Trade, talk and drink until he sees the ghost of his dead son. The important one."

He should tell her of his father's words, all of their families' wicked plans, yet the moment he tries to speak tears burn in his eyes. 

De Sardet exhales, letting go of his arms. For a moment she looks as if she is about to share her thoughts with him, toying with the strands of her braid. In the end she draws back, whatever words she might have had staying unsaid. "I believe that they want the best for us, even if we do not see it yet."

He laughs and presses his palms to his eyes.

When he dares to open them again she smiles softly at him. "I heard the servants talk about lemon cake today. We will go and steal some from the kitchens."

"You never liked lemon cake."

"But you do. Let's go, Constantin."

He lets himself be dragged along, gripping her hand as if she could disappear the moment he let go.

They find lemon cake, along with an half empty abandoned bottle of something that smells like wine, so they take it, as well. It tastes horrible and burns in his throat, but De Sardet almost topples over from laughter when she sees his face, and that almost makes the experience worth it. Almost.

Constantin is thirteen years old when he decides that he cherishes his cousin more than everyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the story from this point on: violence, awful parenting, awful coping mechanisms, murder, awkward teenagers, kisses and Constantin being Constantin. Most of all the latter, but expect more drama. 
> 
> As De Courcillon says, "Court life has not been kind to him."

By the end of his imprisonment he has written four and a half pages of his apology letter, a short poem about a captured hero and drawn more swords than he cares to count.

Most importantly he has thought of an excuse for scaring her back to Thélème without accusing Lady Rehan of a crime she had not committed. The chances of her forgiving him are as slim as the sky turning green, but it would leave a better impression on his father, for what it was worth. 

He makes the mistake to believe that there are no further consequences.

  
  


De Sardet escorts him to Father’s workroom, walking close enough to let their shoulders touch every now and then. 

"What happened, Constantin?" she asks quietly.

"Why, my father has some matters to discuss," he says. He looks over his shoulder before he continues in a hushed tone. "And this is my apology for Lady Rehan. Surely she will care that I feel terribly sorry," he says, "seeing as I ruined her employment as well as her dress."

He knows that she still hopes for a different explanation. The truth. Yet he still does not know what to tell her, what to make of the memories himself. Just thinking of the fragments he can remember hurts.

She looks disappointed. "She was offered to stay," she says. "She declined."

"Have they - you - found a new tutor?"

"Not yet. Mother… Mother is…"

"Still enraged? Why yes, who wouldn't be?" Somehow he smiles.

His aunt has not lost a single word about the incident, but her anger is simmering, lasting, unlike her brother's bursts of sudden rage. 

She has no proof that Constantin's act was anything other than his usual foolishness, so she tolerates him, even if she neither forgets nor forgives. Instead she lets the servants bear the brunt of her displeasure. Why she bothers to when she so obviously blames Constantin is a mystery to him, but he knows better than to ask.

It is nothing he isn't accustomed to. 

They arrive at Father's room, though neither makes any move to announce their presence.

De Sardet tugs at her sleeve, casting a fleeting smile at him. Then she places a small pocket watch in his hands. It glimmers faintly as he turns it. The covering is of a desaturated brown and tiny golden stars speckle its front. Golden needles and numerals adorn the dial. 

"So you can be fashionably late," she says quietly and scratches the bridge of her nose. 

"Stars." He turns the watch and grins. "I should have known you are a romantic at heart."

She opens her mouth, most likely to tell him that the stars actually formed some important constellation as a part of an intricate web, but he simply gives her another hug and knocks at the door before he can lose his courage. 

  
  


Constantin keeps his feet still and his smile polite, intending to wait until his father speaks, but minutes go by without so much as an acknowledgment of his presence. 

Usually Father would fill the silence, initiate another lecture with a low, drawn-out sigh and an increasingly agitated voice, but today he draws out their meeting until Constantin cannot stand it any more.

"Surely you want to know why I poured water over-" 

Father lifts his hand. "Save your words for whoever is willing to listen. Lady Rehan was not a trading partner, nor anyone of much importance, but that doesn't lessen the idiocy of your behavior. I have grown tired of repeating myself over and over, Constantin. As long as you act like a child you will be treated as such.”

_ Oh, but I did what you wanted, didn't I? You can keep De Sardet and blame me. _

Constantin smiles wryly.

"She was supposed to be my cousin's teacher, no? Did you have any plans for me, too?"

He regrets the question as soon as he asks, as Father immediately turns suspicious. 

"Mother told me," Constantin quickly adds. "Well, it wasn't hard to come to the conclusion. I have never understood alchemy and magic, so of course she would teach my cousin and not me, no? I wasn't _ jealous _ of her, but–"

"Constantin." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "What do you want?"

"I was about to tell you." 

"No. What is _ your goal _, other than getting what you want in the short term? I do not care who you try to fend off with your antics. I care that you do, and keep doing so without any regard for your future. So I ask you again: what do you want?"

"I could ask you the same," Constantin says, and he bites his lip when Father looks surprised. "I… I mean to say, could you not have called for a scholar who could teach both De Sardet and me?

"It wasn’t me who called for her," Father says. "Though I believe that the field of alchemy is less for people with innate talent rather than those who want to study. You could have spent your time learning with your cousin. You could have spent time working with _ any _of your tutors.” 

Kurt refuses to train every single day with him, but Father is only talking about the subjects he believes to be important, anyhow. He has still made no mention of Constantin's unauthorized visits to the market, which means Mother kept quiet about their agreement. The fact is unnerving rather than calming, but he pushes the thought away. There is no avoiding his mother, at any rate.

"At least you cannot scare books away. Get the books on accounting from the bookshelf over there." Father waves his hand with an nonchalant gesture. 

Constantin furrows his brows. There are too many registers and books on accounting. The whole room is filled with nothing but books and tools for work, and if Father spent only a second thinking about him he would have realized as much. He pulls two of the tallest books from the shelf.

"Wait," Father says, but Constantin is already staring at the wine bottle hidden behind the largest books of the row. 

_ Ah. _

Of course. 

They are close to his brother's birthday. The first son, the _ good _ son whose face Constantin cannot remember and his father cannot forget. Another topic that must never be talked about.

Father had not lost a single word about his first child. Not until Constantin had found him on the floor, an empty bottle of wine next to him.

He laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation, right until a chair clutters to the ground. Constantin barely has time to turn before Father is in front of him. 

"Everything is funny to you, is it not?" The anger in his voice has vanished, and now that the walls are crumbling Constantin can see the void behind them. It terrifies him more than any of his previous shouting matches.

Constantin can see nothing but his chest, his broad figure blocking Constantin's only way of escape - and this time there is no De Sardet to protect him from his wrath. 

Constantin ducks his head and presses himself to the bookshelf, waiting for the blow. 

It does not come. It never does.

There is no alcohol on his breath, though that is only a small consolidation as Father leans in and places one hand against the shelf. 

"Three days. You will spend three days alone. Maybe then you will appreciate the people around you a little more."

"Back then I thought that someone had poisoned you," Constantin whispers. "When I found you."

Father does not move. 

"I was worried. I didn't think it funny."

Father raises his hand towards him, and Constantin leans to the side in an effort to avoid the fingers trailing over the book spines. They tighten around the last of its row, right next to his ear. Father puts it into Constantin’s hands.

"Read this. Gods know you will have time to do so."

Constantin does not dare to raise his head. He waits, staring at the toppled chair until his father crosses the room. 

"Come."

Father ignores a confused De Sardet and marches off. Constantin avoids her eyes and slinks after him, though he shrugs in an attempt to reassure her. Another fight, another squabble to get over. He has spent the last eight weeks alone. Three more days are tiresome but manageable. 

Father does not lead him to the library. He walks to the other end of the building, to one of the guest rooms on the highest floor. 

The furniture consists of a bed, a wooden desk and a simple chair, as well as a mostly depleted bookshelf. A portrait titled _ Lord d’Orsay _ hangs next to it, as if Father feared that guests could forget whose home they were visiting. He will have to take it down once his father leaves. 

A single window lets him watch the sea from afar, provided he leans far enough to the right, past the old tower obstructing most of his view. A pair of seagulls nests in front of its window a floor below, though the distance is too great for him to consider jumping across.

A luxurious prison cell.

He refuses to look at Father until he is gone. 

No contact, only for sliding meals through the door and to empty his chamber pot.

They do not even give him a quill and ink. Nothing but a few history books to keep him company. Perhaps he feared that Constantin would tear the library to shreds and light a pyre with the remains. He harbors no such hatred for books, despite his complaining, but his parents would have to know more about him to realise that.

Maybe De Sardet could light a fire now, had he not sent Rehan running back to Thélème. He would have to apologize later. 

Later. 

He looks at the watch. Opens and closes the lid. Once, twice, thrice. 

It has been five hours since he entered this room. 

De Sardet would be fine here. She is far from shy or unsociable but she has no need to talk for hours, to run and climb or to stumble headfirst into trouble. 

Three days.

  
  


The first hours are enjoyable, if he ignores the knowledge that Father will return to his study and wait for the day he can drink and forget about him.

Constantin uses the time to practice his lesser-used skills.

He takes a deep breath and sings. Children's songs at first, but those soon turn boring. No one comes to stop him, so he switches to the bawdiest songs he learned while roaming the streets. Still no one reacts, so he keeps singing until his throat hurts and his voice threatens to fade.

Only now does he take a look at Father's book. It says _ Serene's Princes post 1200_. Constantin groans. How ludicrous of him to believe that Father had picked a book with purpose. He stashes it beneath his bed and searches among the books lined up on the shelf. 

A dictionary of seafarer's words, two rough maps of the continent, an ancient looking book about Nauts and five heavy tomes about Gacane's history. It is as if someone had thrown all unwanted books into this room.

There is nothing else to do, however, so he wades through all of them. 

Serene has an extensive list of disappeared, exiled or murdered princes and high-standing merchants. He recognizes a few names from De Courcillon’s lessons, among them his mother's family name. Father had been born into aristocracy. Mother had worked her way through the ranks, having been born to a moderately rich merchant without a title, and, bizarrely, the book stops at her highest rank previously to mentioning her marriage to Prince d’Orsay.

They do not mention him or any other children.

  
  


He throws breadcrumbs at the seagulls nesting on the tower. At first they flee with alarmed squawks, until their stupid bird brains understand he is feeding them. From then on they wait, staring at him with their strange, bright eyes. He wonders how many of them he would need to fly away. If they would taste good if they were cooked. How many stones the city walls are made of.

How many Nauts had to gather on a ship to sink it. How much coin it would take to buy all of Gacane. 

None of the books will tell him. 

  
  


Not even Sir De Courcillon visits for his lectures. 

  
  


Constantin paces the room. Ten steps, past the bookshelf. Turn to the left. Three steps until he reaches the bed. He jumps on top of it. Two more. Turn. Two steps, down to the floor. Five more to the desk. He ponders for a moment, then climbs up. He tries to reach the ceiling, but not even his highest leap gets him close.

Constantin crosses his legs, observing the door. 

It is a curious thing, having a guest room that can be locked from the outside. He had never noticed. 

The suggestion no doubt came from his mother, though she had no trouble locking people into place with her presence and mind alone. Father is an imposing man, towering even over grown men. By the time people realize that Mother is just as dangerous it is often too late. 

This is no punishment for insulting Lady Rehan. Father sent him here because Constantin mentioned his brother.

  
  


During the second day he receives an envelope along with his meal. It bears Mother's seal and a short note written by her.

_ One week, for breaking your word and interfering with matters that do not concern you. _

He rips the note into tiny pieces. 

  
  


Fleeing from the tower is impossible. A rope made with blankets would be too short to reach the ground safely, and unlike the heroes in the books Constantin is not sure that the knots will hold, and he has no desire to risk dying just to make a point. 

Perhaps he should have asked a Naut about tying knots during his visits. He will, once he may leave.

  
  


The pocket watch is both the best and the worst possession he holds. Time is both his best friend and worst enemy. 

It must be the third day Constantin spends in here, and the minutes seem to pass slower the longer he goes without a proper conversation. He takes naps to pass the time.

Sometimes he wakes and hopes that he has slept for a full day, or that someone - anyone - would come through the door. Nothing, though the bucket with water has been replaced the next time he opens his eyes. He curses.

  
  


The bookshelf is too heavy for him to move. Not that there is anything he could _ do _with a bookshelf even if he had the strength for it, except for throwing it out the window. He will ask Kurt if he has ever tried to lift a bookshelf. No, even better - he will order him to lift one.

For now he hums and builds a castle of stacked books. 

  
  


At night he studies the watch again. The engraved stars make for a pretty decoration, though none of the books could tell him if the constellation has a name. He suspects it does. De Sardet never does anything without good reason. She is the only one who makes sense to him. The only one who cares for him and his wishes. 

  
  


In the morning he attempts to gain the servants’ attention. He tries jokes, small talk, vents. 

They serve his food, give him new attire and change his chamber pot. Nothing convinces them to acknowledge his existence. It is worse than simply being alone.

He spins around as someone unbolts the door. "What is it now? Have you decided to prolong my punishment? I have two books left to read, so you can come-"

"Constantin!" 

He stumbles to the door just as De Sardet opens it, and he nearly sends both of them to the ground with his embrace. 

"They wouldn't let me in until now," she says, her eyes pleading. "I tried to convince them, but no one would listen. I'm so sorry." 

"How did you convince them?" 

"I didn't. I waited until I saw my chance to pass." 

De Sardet takes his hand and he notes that they feel rougher than usual. She pulls back. 

"I thought about joining you here, but Sir De Courcillon said I shouldn't even be talking to you. He… involved the guard in a conversation. I cannot stay long, but I will do so if you need me."

He puts on the nicest smile he has to offer. "Don’t be silly. Even you would grow bored in here. Besides, if I continue reading at my current pace I will have caught up with you once the week ends."

He should tell her that she has to go back, that there is no use for her being punished because of seeing him. The words will not leave his mouth.

"Mother has found a new tutor. He will continue teaching alchemy to me."

"Will you go?" He tries not to clutch her clothes too roughly. 

"No, of course not. He will stay here. So will I," she says, realization dawning on her face. "Was… was this - Lady Rehan - about…" 

Constantin releases her and nods, not brave enough to look at her. "Well, not this." He nods at the glorified prison surrounding them. "This is about my brother."

De Sardet hides her face in her hands, shaking her head. "How do you consistently wind up in these situations?" 

“You may want to ask my parents. My father, in particular. But do not mention my brother, unless you want to spend your days locked in the room next to mine. And before you ask: no, I did not insult his precious memory. I merely acknowledged his existence - and mine. Perhaps that is what angered him.”

“Do not say that.” She sounds pensive rather than vexed - and just like that all of Constantin’s strength to be furious is gone. 

“Maybe you should leave,” Constantin says before he can change his mind and beg her to stay. He quickly pushes her out and leans against the door.

  
  


Three more days. Only three more days.

  
  


Father’s portrait is staring at him. Whoever had painted it had been a master of their craft, for his sour disposition shines through brilliantly. It does not take much to imagine the shift towards the disdain he holds for Constantin. For some bizarre reason it feels like Constantin would lose a battle if he ripped the frame off, so it stays where it is. Watching him, judging him.

He shakes his head, as if the thoughts could disappear that way. 

He reaches beneath the bed and takes the book Father had given him. 

It is the same information he had found in the tomes. History does not change. The same names, the same dates. _ Prince d'Orsay, Prince d'Orsay, Prince d'Orsay_. All born princes, yet all lived up to their name, keeping their position for more than their heritage. 

He halts when he reaches the last part of the book. _ Mera d'Orsay_, _ born Loret. Louis d'Orsay. _ Father’s first wife and son. Not only that, someone has circled Mera's name with ink and added a folded note with even more names. Some are crossed through, others are circled. Among the circled ones is his mother's name. 

The note is written by Father's hand.

  
  


Constantin is too restless to fall asleep, so he starts exercising. He climbs onto the table and jumps down again, up and down, up and down. Until his lungs hurt and the room around him spins. He lies on the ground with his feet on his bed and stares at the ceiling until sleep finally takes him.

  
  


The next morning he has another visitor. 

De Courcillon is polite and soft-spoken as ever while he places a new pile of books on the desk. 

"You are such a bright young man, Your Excellency," he says, and the kinder his voice sounds the more Constantin wants to raise his own. 

Compliments so often end with an unspoken _ but_.

"Say, do any of these books mention how my brother died?" 

The resulting silence is long enough that Constantin wants to hammer against the door to make him speak. 

"What makes you ask, Lord d'Orsay?" 

"Father, of course. Well, you could also say my brother. His birthday is near, and you must know what that means." The look on his face tell Constantin he does. "He really _ did _ die, no? Or was he shipped away as part of a contract with the Nauts? Did he run off to Thélème, perhaps? It wouldn't surprise me, if this is how Father treats his children."

Constantin knows he is behaving awfully. He knows, yet he does not care. He needs to talk, to vent, and for his teacher to understand that he will not be treated like an auxiliary son.

Though Father does not need a child. He had a child who should be an adult now, ready to marry, have children of his own, be _ alive _.

"Have you asked your father?"

Constantin chuckles. "Why, what a lovely idea. He will be delighted to talk to me. Both of us know that you are the only one I can ask and expect an honest answer from. Besides, you'd think he hates my brother instead of me, considering that he avoids mentioning him at all costs."

"Both your brother and his mother fell ill, Your Highness." 

"From monotony? The malichor? Were they locked away and forgotten, too?"

"Please do not speak ill of the dead, Lord d'Orsay."

"Oh, I am not. I am speaking ill of the living," Constantin snarls.

Poor, sad De Courcillon, watching his failing student's worsening attitude. 

He cannot laugh when De Courcillon says, "Your Father has sacrificed a great many things for the peace of Serene." 

"Thank him from me, will you?" 

De Courcillon sighs. "Your stay here will be over soon," he says softly before he leaves. 

Constantin throws the book against the door.

  
  


The clock ticks. 

One more minute. One more hour. One minute less to be spent in captivity. One minute less to wait.

He gets to his feet and shuffles over to the book he had flung. He rips out its pages, one by one, folds them into tiny ships and hats. The others he scrunches up into cannon balls, aiming for his father's nose. 

Oh, he would make them pay. He would let them believe they had won, pretend to be a _ good son _from now on. He would take hold of De Sardet’s hand, tear her out of their grasp and run. 

That thought is all he has, and he holds onto it as he watches the needles turn. 

  
  
  


When Father opens the door Constantin meets his gaze head-on. "Why, finally. This was unexciting." 

He makes sure leave _ Serene's Princes post 1200 _ on the desk, right where Father can see it.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


To Constantin there is no better place in Serene than the lower markets. After being trapped like a criminal it is wonderful to see human faces again, and nowhere else can he find a greater variety of people. No one here cares how Constantin walks, that he takes two steps instead of one or that the wind ruffles his hair when he runs. 

He loves the smell of exotic food and spices, the waft of fresh bread from the bakery down the street, where he is just another potential customer instead of the Merchant Prince's wayward son.

He can get lost in the crowd and enjoy the bustle away from his guards who usually follow him like heavy shadows. 

Mother had forbidden him to enter taverns, whether to drink or to enter the brothels that tended to coexist close to them. Visiting Naut buildings without an entourage had been prohibited as well, though the rule never made much sense to him. If someone at the market decided to hold him for ransom he would end up dead, either way. At least he would get to see the vastness of their world by joining the Nauts.

He spends the afternoon loitering about the docks. A few merchants have set up shop close to the pier, and Constantin buys a small round lantern for De Sardet.

Despite growing up in a city that owes most of its wealth to seafaring Constantin has boarded few ships. He would love to join a voyage some day, or at least enter one of the taverns of Serene that the guards keep talking about. Most inns have hired intimidating looking wardens, so he contents himself with watching the people come and go. 

He is about to light the lantern and head home when he recognizes one of his father's friends hurrying down a backstreet, dressed in a rather shabby looking coat and a wide-brimmed hat. Wherever this man plans to go, it must be interesting.

Constantin follows.

De Sardet would never dare to do this. She would have grabbed his sleeve and dragged him home. But she is not here.

He waits just at the edge of each corner before he dares to peek. The man keeps his head down, and so Constantin trails him in the shadows, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. Their route stays close to the docks. Despite the darkness he can see the buildings around him grow more squalid with each step that he takes. People live in these houses. Several windows are lit, and Constantin almost yelps when a cat brushes past his legs. He has never wandered through this part of Serene at night, and suddenly every new figure that appears seems shadier than the last. Father's friend - Gyles, he finally remembers - speeds up his pace and vanishes behind a wall. 

And then the street come alive again. Constantin dives behind a tower of crates as a group of men - Nauts, for they all have tattoos - takes a turn to the same street his target has entered. One whistles. 

He tags after them and grimaces when he nears their destination. Moaning and laughter and music that sounds like it is played on a broken instrument. He should have guessed where men went at night.

Before he can leave he feels a presence at his back. Someone lifts his hat. Constantin spins around, only to find himself face to face with a woman. 

"You know what this place is, yes?" she says as she puts on his hat, smiling down at him.

"Why yes, I do." Constantin's own smile fades as she saunters over to the entrance and leans against the doorframe. 

"Then get outta here. We aren't hiring." A man appears next to her, rolling his shoulders before he approaches. He is not as well-armored as the Coin Guards' men but looks dangerous enough to disparage anyone from bothering him and the rapier hanging from his belt.

Constantin opens his mouth to reply that he would never consider selling himself to a house of ill repute, but the hat thief leaning at the entrance tilts her head and squints. 

"Wait," she says, and her gaze wanders over his body, from his hair down to his tied boots, then up again. "Come here." 

This is not good. 

He turns to walk away, yet the guard grabs his shoulder, his large hand pressing down so hard it hurts. 

"I have nothing of interest for you, I promise." He quickly holds up the small light he had bought for De Sardet. "Besides this. You- you can keep it if you want, I can still buy another."

The man shoves him through the door. 

A cloud of smells hit him, a combination of scented candles and other scents, so intense that his head throbs. The hallway is dimly lit, whether to set the mood or to hide the downtrodden interior of this place. He expected a small tavern, but the tiny counter barely counts as a bar. The music originates from here. A young girl, about his age, is perched in the seat next to it. The shabby lute in her hands only enhances the threadbare ambience. She raises a brow at him. Constantin backs away. 

Father's friend had entered not long ago, and Constantin has no idea what the lord would do if he saw him. Pretend to be someone else? Act embarrassed? Call him a thief and tell his guard to kill him? Would the others here stop him or join?

He has no interest in finding out.

Constantin flinches away before the man can grab him again. The music stops. 

He is as good as dead. "Please," he starts, though he stops himself from begging for his life. Mentioning his father could worsen his predicament.

"I'll take him." Another woman with light brown curls and an equally revealing dress slides between the pair and Constantin. 

Her face is hidden from view, but the pair's mood shifts immediately. The woman's smile turns into a firm line, her eyes locked with the newcomer's in a silent argument. Finally she rolls her eyes. "Have fun." 

He can feel their eyes on him as he follows the stranger. 

"You like them young, huh, Dania?" someone calls, and the woman leading him down the corridor answers with a curse. 

It is rude to stare, but he has never seen a place such as this before. Oh, De Sardet and him had explored abandoned buildings before, and a few that turned out to be not quite as abandoned as they had thought - yet none had been as lively as these near-ruins. 

"I thank you for your interest, but I am not here to fornicate," Constantin says. "I am searching for someone. A, uh, noble friend of mine. Well, was, though I should be on my way home, you see. I am Constan-" 

He nearly stumbles as she shoves him forward. 

"We're all nobles here," she murmurs, and someone giggles. Another door closes as they pass. 

They enter the last room of the building. 

“Close the door,” Dania says.

Constantin swallows but obeys, and when he turns to face her she is holding a chair. He presses his lips together to keep from laughing. 

He takes a deep breath, scanning the room for a way to escape. She is blocking the only window, though even if he darted past her he would never open the shutters in time to jump out. Aside from the chair Dania carries there is nothing but a bed with linen sheets. He is truly trapped.

He allowed someone to lead him to his death without any sort of fight, in a whorehouse, no less. De Sardet would be furious.

Then he remembers the dagger in his boot. His fingers twitch as he recalls Kurt’s lesson about combat in close quarters. Dania stands too close. She would stop him before he reached the hilt.

“Don’t reach for whatever weapon you got,” she growls, and Constantin holds up his hands.

Muffled voices sound through the wall. Beds creak. Dania does not seem to care. She is watching him, and his unease must be obvious, for her red lips turn into a slight smirk. "Visit didn't go as planned, huh?"

"I was _ not _ visiting," Constantin says. "And I am neither a scoundrel nor a thief."

"A thief don't walk around with this." She points at his chest, right where he keeps his watch. "At least no thief who wants to get away." 

"How did you know what I was carrying?" 

"Eran would have smashed your skull already. And if I were someone else, I'd have taken this thing here, called the guard and threatened you to leave this to me. Or just ordered Eran to bash your head in. Which is what they planned to do, most like."

Constantin swallows. "And how did you know I was carrying this?" 

She shrugs. "You start seeing these things. What's under people's clothes before they take them off."

He is not quite certain what to make of this answer, so he simply smiles politely. 

“Hold it up. The watch.” 

Again Constantin complies, tilting his head as he has an idea. "Would you teach me?" 

Her eyes narrow. "Teach you what?"

"Well, _ seeing _, for one. I do not mean to boast, but I know how to spot liars - yet I wouldn't know how to think like a… a… to think so pragmatically. So perhaps you might-" 

She shoves him through the door, back to the hallway with the moaning - and hollering - men and women, to a short entrance way. 

"Wait. I have this," he whispers, fumbles with his left pocket and holds up the first of his last two coins he has to spare. She freezes.

He fumbles for the other and holds it up, as well. 

Dania stares for so long that his fingers start itching to reach for the dagger. Then she turns her head to the hallway and looks back again. She takes the coins and shoves them between her breasts. 

Constantin prays that it is too dark for her to notice his stare. "I, uh, I have no other intentions. I will pay you each time, I promise." 

Dania leans forward until she is inches from his face. "If you come back to claim that I stole from you I will take a knife and stick it between your ribs."

She looks scared. She must be. She has no idea who he is, but his pocket watch must be worth more than all of her possessions combined. 

He suppresses a nervous laugh. "That was a rather convincing lie."

His heart is racing again, but he keeps his voice steady. "I thank you for the pleasant conversation."

"Stop talking like that, or they're gonna know you're one of the haves." 

It takes him a moment to understand what she means. "So is that the first lesson?"

"No. Your entrance fee," she murmurs. She pushes him outside and pulls the door almost completely shut. "Down the street, round the corner, then straight up til you see the butcher's house. Unless you're blind you'll know where to go from there. Run home, boy."

Mother would have scoffed at the improper attitude towards a prince's son, but Constantin grins at the rush of excitement that takes over. He knows better than to assume that the beast called Serene is ever asleep, but he cannot stifle the laughter that escapes his lips as he dashes towards his home. Only the echoes of his steps bounce back at him. This world that his parents scoff at wears its ugliness on its sleeve. It does not hide behind opulence and smiling masks. It is just what he needs.

  
  
  


Even without his pocket watch he knows that it is long past midnight when he climbs up his balcony. 

He almost yelps at the the figure in front of the door. 

De Sardet is leaning against the glass, fast asleep. Maybe it is the excitement from before, but she looks utterly adorable.

He throws his arms around her, stifling a laugh. De Sardet wakes with a muffled gasp, but after a moment he can feel her returning the gesture, if only for a brief moment. 

He quickly leans back before she can push him away. "You will never believe where I was!" 

"I was worried you were locked up in that room again. You smell like…" She leans in, concentration written on her face. "Like lavender? Rose water? Constantin, where _ were _you?" 

He can feel his face heating up. Suddenly it seems like a rather bad idea to share this with her. "I visited the markets, you see, and I ended up making a few new acquaintances."

She only looks at him, her brows furrowed as she listens to his report of the evening. He leaves out a few unnecessary details such as the armed man and the sights and noises at the brothel.

"I am sorry for keeping you waiting. My heart almost stopped when I saw you sitting there. What a relief that the nights are still warm, no?" Constantin says. 

De Sardet still stays quiet. Sometimes she draws these silences out, as if weighing her options before she decides what to do. This time she takes so long that he reaches out to pinch her cheek. As soon as his fingertips touch her she turns her head with an inscrutable expression. "That is dangerous, Constantin.”

“Oh, are you contagious?” he says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. This reaction was new.

She grimaces, and even the moonlight cannot hide her blush. “Apparently not, otherwise the whole house would be covered with trees by now.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she says. “And you know that I meant your visit to that place. At night, no less.”

"Well, I hadn't expected to stay the night. In fact, I bought something for you, fair cousin." He fumbles with his belt until he can remove the lantern, and he grins as she gapes at it. 

"Thank you," she says, and finally she manages a slight smile. "Promise me you will take me with you next time."

"Are you serious?" The idea of taking here to this sort of district does not sit well with him. 

They stare at each other in a silent challenge. 

Constantin is the first to look away. "As long as you don't wander there alone. It wasn't _ that _pleasant.”

"We should go to bed," she says, and he nods. 

  
  


Only once he has slipped beneath the covers he remembers that the woman at the brothel kept his hat.

It takes him another night to wonder how Dania knew of the correct way back.

  
  
  


His mother calls him to her side a week later. 

Constantin slinks down the corridor after dinner. Early morning conversations spell trouble - evening conversations spell certain doom. Mother plans each of her days with care, so her request to meet him just as Father takes a walk through the gardens is no sheer chance. Always right where Mother can watch him through her window. Constantin never asks whether he knows of whatever she does during these times. Perhaps it is another of his parents' strange secrets.

He has barely knocked once before she answers.

"Come in, Constantin."

She is surrounded by the same icy aura as ever, despite the warm candlelight flickering before her. 

"Sit."

Constantin obeys, watches her sign letter after letter while the sunlight fades.

She slides her signet ring off her finger and holds a stick of wax above the candle. "I had been wondering when you would take to such interests, though I admit that I didn't expect it so soon."

Constantin frowns.

With her other hand she reaches behind her desk and presents him his hat. "It is natural for a boy to develop a liking for the women he meets. They will use their charms and bodies to fool you into thinking they are interested in anything but your money. Believe me when I say that they are not. Especially not the ones from the harbor." 

He laughs, and for the first time a hint of annoyance flashes across her face. 

"Do not act a child if you dislike being treated as such."

"So I've been told." He takes a deep breath to calm himself. "I do not have the slightest idea what you and your friends fancied when you were young, but I am not whoring my way through the city."

"Ah," she says, and Constantin wonders if she sounds as disinterested when she talks to the spies she hides in every nook and cranny. "I advise you not to mention the word in front of your father."

"Because he will not approve. Yes, I know."

"His patience is wearing thin, Constantin. So is mine. I specifically told you not to visit these venues."

"I didn't visit that place just to defy your orders! I tailed someone. One of Father's friends. Lord… 

Lord Gyles. He entered the building and I wasn't planning to follow, but… I was held back."

"By the women?"

"By the brothel's guard. I wanted to leave but he wouldn't let me. But do not worry for me, dear Mother, I survived unscathed." 

She is too busy pressing her sigil into the wax to notice his accusatory frown. "Evidently. So you entered the brothel. Did you find the man you were searching for?" 

Nothing of this phases her. She either knows of the whole story and wishes to test his sincerity, or she hopes that Constantin will fill in the holes.

"No, he had already entered one of the rooms. Do you want me to gather more information?" 

A hint of a smile crosses her features. "No, Constantin. I want you to stay where you are supposed to be and act according to your status. I thought your father and I had made that clear. If you refuse to do that I will have to tell your father of your pastimes." 

_ And what will he do? Chain me forever to his desk? Have me assassinated? Lock me away until I go mad? _

He holds his tongue, even if it feels like he will choke. Not for Mother's sake. Certainly not for Father's.

He places his hand above the pocket, where his clock is ticking quietly.

It is only a matter of time until this is over. Another hour, another day, until they are old and influential enough to leave this place. 

  
  
  


* * *

He meets Dania during another of his market tours.

She looks older and rather tired in the sunlight, and without her painted face and heavy jewelry she draws less attention to herself, much less than Constantin does. 

He is wearing common clothing, too, but he is sitting on top of a high brick wall to see past the bodies and out at the sea.

It does not take long for her to spot him, and he can see the recognition in her face. Constantin grins and waves before she can turn around and flee. A few curious onlookers turn their heads as he climbs down the wall he had been sitting on and weaves his way through the crowd. 

She continues her stroll down to the pier, ignoring his cheerful greeting, his equally cheerful question about her well-being and his less cheerful reminder that it is rude to ignore people trying to converse.

Dania stops once they have left the bulk of the throng, yet she is still watching the sea, her gaze lingering on every of the ships that arrive. 

"You're the Prince," she says. 

“His son, but you were close. Now, don’t sound so accusingly. I tried to tell you the first time we met, no?"

"What do you want?" she asks, refusing to look at him. 

_ A way out _, he thinks. "Have you made up your mind about our deal?"

"Piss off."

He takes that to mean No, but even _ he _is finding himself annoyed with her vulgarity. “I understand,” he says, imitating his father’s pose to the best of his ability, “you earn enough money with your occupation. You have no interest in the money I am carrying in my pocket right now.”

The ticking of his pocket watch drowns in the sea of noise around them. Waves spluttering against the hulls and the docks. Nauts shouting orders, carrying crates of what might be Father’s next shipment of invaluable wares.

Dania only watches the people.

Constantin waits until the needle hits the next golden digit before he closes the lid. “I will take my leave, then. Have a pleasant day.”

"Listen. Your visit didn't go unnoticed. They could be watching us right now." 

"Oh, they probably are," Constantin says, "No matter what people claim, they are willing to sell information and _ me _for coin, and my parents have enough of that to spare. But I want your advice."

Mother might have forbidden visits to taverns and brothels, but meeting their workers elsewhere is not quite the same. 

"Is that how you thank people for saving your arse?"

"I did not need saving," Constantin says, ignoring her scoff, "but thank you nonetheless. And I am offering you more coin, which you were interested in."

"I don't have time for princelings who could buy three teachers and keep their business away from me."

"They only lessons they give me are about behaving properly, which is the exact opposite of what I am asking of you," Constantin says. He needs to know just how involved she is with Mother’s net of spies, but with her current distrust he has no chance of receiving an answer.

"Go visit some tavern and watch the common arseholes piss away their money with drinks."

"I am already doing that, just are mine well-dressed and bathed instead of reeking like yours." And his taverns are made of marble and splendor.

"I am not teaching you sex, got it?"

His cheeks heat up. "Gods, I- I wasn’t asking you to…"

She snorts. "Sure. No one does. Don’t complain if I don’t have much to say, then. If anyone spots you doing something weird I’ll tell them it’s on you. And no set meetings. If I see you I'll talk to you. Never come back to the hellhole unless you want to end up dead in an alley. I won't save you a second time."

"Wonderful!" he says.

She shakes her head and takes his coins.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Over the next months Constantin spends effort to keep up with the lessons De Courcillon has in store. 

De Sardet always keeps a book with her, so he makes it a habit to read whatever she is carrying. Guides on alchemy and the diverse uses of herbs for medicine. Dictionaries for languages Constantin would have stopped studying had it not been for both her and De Courcillon's polite but firm insistence.

Constantin waits for the rain and the chilly seasons before he can keep still and read. Ever since his confinement he cannot bear silence. Solitude is torture, and some nights he spends with his watch held to his ear just to suffocate the quietness. 

He has made himself comfortable in front of the fireplace, languidly stretched out on the couch with a dictionary, though the book manages to wander from his hand to his face, resting there until De Sardet arrives. 

He sits up, letting the book slide down into his lap as she places her pile on top of his - two adventure novels and a book on longswords and shields - and sinks down next to him. 

"I am starting to fear that your future dreams will consist of nothing but plants," he says, flipping through the pages of the uppermost book. 

De Sardet sighs. "I am starting to fear that you are correct."

She stretches her legs until she reaches the armrest of the nearest chair and puts her feet on top. _ Inappropriate manners _, some would say. All he can think is that she seems exhausted but carefree, a sight that becomes rarer with each passing month. 

When he looks up De Sardet is watching him. He quickly turns his head. 

"Is Kurt teaching you to fight with a shield?" she asks. 

"Of course not. No sensible person would carry a shield to a gunfight. No, I was reading the dictionary until you arrived. Or trying, seeing as I cannot remember a single word."

"Perhaps it would be easier if you only read one book at a time."

"Perhaps. Most likely it would bore me to death. Speaking of which, what book are you occupied with?"

"Aconite, also called monkshood or wolfsbane, is a plant with fast-working poison that can be absorbed even through skin," she reads.

"Ah, my mother's favorite plant, then. Are you going to harvest your ingredients by yourself? Please notify me if you plan to poison our food supply." 

She raises a brow. "Do I have a reason to take revenge?"

"Doesn't everyone?" 

De Sardet sighs. "I would still have to get past the food testers."

"That should not be hard for someone as imaginative as you," he says and smiles. 

Calm moments with De Sardet differ from the eerie stillness of an empty room. There is no need to speak, and for a while they simply watch the firewood fall apart and turn to cinders.

"Did you visit the brothel again?" She looks at her dictionary as she speaks, but her eyes do not move. 

"No, though my mother would like me to." Constantin chuckles at the horror on her face. "I am telling you the truth."

It is not a lie because he meets Dania at the markets, not the brothel. She is still as crude as she had been upon their introduction, but she kept her word. She had taught him how to spot coin purses and thieves - some carried knives to cut holes into pockets without the victim ever noticing - and how to spot those with veiled weapons. Which merchants could be bribed or talked into deals. She would not speak about her profession, however.

"I must be the first person to visit a brothel before ever entering a tavern."

She opens her mouth as if to respond, but instead she yawns. They chuckle.

"Did you spend too much time at the herbarium again?" he asks. 

"Not this time. Mother was invited by a friend of hers, and she advised me to join her… Which meant that I had to refresh my memory of the various courtly dances."

“Dutiful as ever,” Constantin says. “Did your dance partner’s feet survive the strife?”

He remembers trying to learn the steps with her, years ago. After two lessons their instructor had refused to let them dance together, for they turned it all into a game of stepping on each other's toes. 

“Mostly. I believe both of us are glad the lesson is over.”

He tries not to stare when she stretches again and turns to rest on her side, watching him from between heavy lids, wearing a content expression. "I remember listening to you reading children's tales," she says. "You voiced every character."

"Yes? Oh, yes, I was an outstanding actor, wasn't I?"

"You did not have any competition, but yes, you were."

He never felt nervous reading to her back then. "Well, I can continue the tradition. Would you prefer an introduction to handling shields or the tale of a Naut gone rogue?" 

She smiles. "Whichever you prefer."

He chooses the adventure novel. 

Soon De Sardet buries her head in her pillow, a few strands of her hair falling into her face. He wants to reach out and tuck them behind her ear, but she looks so close to sleep that he fears waking her. She would likely be upset, anyway. The days of showing affection through hugs and touches are mostly gone, as much as he hates to admit.

Constantin resumes reading, though he gives up after revisiting the same page thrice without grasping its meaning. He closes the novel, picks up one of his blankets and covers her with it, careful not to wake her. He wraps the other around himself, sinking back onto the sofa so that they don't quite touch.

As young children De Sardet and him had often shared a bed. Her presence had been a comfort whenever a dream or memory had plagued his nights.   
Now the nightmares are worse. The monsters are gone, and he no longer imagines assassins hiding in the shadows. Now there is only silence. Worse yet, he can no longer sneak over to her room, crawl underneath the covers and listen to her heartbeat. No more light touches for solace, or the unevenness of her mark on his skin when he hugs her close.   
For all that he wishes to grow older, this is a change he hates.

He falls asleep to her soft breathing and the sound of burning wood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your amazing responses so far!
> 
> If you haven't done so already, I suggest playing through the game without picking diplomatic/charisma options, or at least without spending points for the skill. Try stealth and bribery. Think of how many people De Sardet kills without ever spending a second thought on them - and Constantin, who is all too happy about taking revenge on his captors even back in Sérène.
> 
> I promise you that they will turn into the characters you see at the start of the game… Just with a little more backstory.

  
Constantin perches on one of the walls overseeing the busy marketplace. Most of the vendors recognize him by now, barely passing a glance when he climbs to his favorite spot. Even the guards had gotten used to his presence, although it had taken an animated speech about thieves and obvious distraction strategies to convince them he was no such lowlife. Other people stared, but they always did, whether here or at court.

"You look like you are starving, boy."

"It is always a pleasure to meet you, too."

Dania is leaning to the wall he is sitting on. She bites into a green apple and raises a brow at him. "You look jealous.”

"Marginally. We are not to eat anything before a meal has been deemed safe."

“I will eat my shoe if you follow a third of the rules set for you," Dania says.

He inspects her mud-covered set of leather boots. "Luckily for you I don't. Are the apples any good?" 

Constantin dangles from the edge before he lets himself fall next to her. 

"Say, are you in need of money to make up for the clients you lose to your crudity?"

"I promised information, not friendliness. People usually don't pay me to _ talk _.” And yet she shrugs and hands him the last apple. "On the house, Your Princeling." 

"My mother insisted that no woman would be interested in me, though she attributed that to my status and unruly behavior, not my appearance."

Her offer might be as much of an apology as he will ever receive, and perhaps a small part of him wants to spite his mother, so he accepts. De Sardet would have gagged at the sour taste.

"Sorry to hear," she says, not sounding sympathetic at all. "Must be hard to sit on your coin all alone."

"It is not simply _ my _coin, and my father likes to remind me of that." For all people praise the status of his name, they forget that De Sardet and him are but dirt beneath their feet. "Although it might be one day, assuming I don't fall victim to poison or assassins." 

"Have you ever been poisoned?"

"No, aside from eating wisteria as a child. My cousin saved me from ingesting too many. We hire food testers to ensure that meals are safe to eat."

There had been attempts, of course. Thirty-five, if his father was to be believed. One of his older maids loved to tell the story of preventing his abduction by another servant. Constantin had barely seen the third year of his life then, so he had no recollection of the event - though the debate about the guards' carelessness had caused quite the stir among Court. 

He wonders if his parents would have saved him, had they known he would turn out like this. "You will be surprised, but we do not have much more privacy than you. There are guards everywhere, and as chance would have it most will be loyal to someone who isn't you. Although we have more space." 

"And medicine," she whispers. "You needn't stare, boy. See the apple as a parting gift. The only advice I got left is to wait until you can visit the taverns. You'll get your information from there. They'll have more to say about your noble friends, too. That's what you're really after, aren't you?"

"I am, although I truly chose you based on your knowledge. Now I happen to care about your opinion." 

She provides a different perspective to the events at court. Much of it is based on disinformation and outright lies fools had spread, but her honesty is both refreshing and amusing. Mostly.

“Nice to hear that, ‘suppose.”

He reaches for the satchel hanging from his belt, but Dania hums. "Not yet. Someone's taken a shine to you," she says.

Constantin follows her gaze and pales. Dania is pointing at his cousin. 

She stands in front of an alchemist's store, half-hidden behind two stalls and the people walking by. Still he can see that she hands the merchant a handful of coins, along with a note he unfolds and reads. Their eyes meet. Constantin waves, sure that De Sardet nods once, but within the blink of an eye the crowd has swallowed her up.

"Seems a bit stoic, but she's pretty," Dania says. "Hope she isn't one of your pa's spies." 

"No, she is not. She would never betray me."

"Does she have the…" Dania points at her jaw. "Y'know."

He frowns and crosses his arms. "I assume you are speaking of the malichor. No, she is perfectly fine. In fact it would be foolish to call her anything but pretty, you said so yourself."

Dania raises her hands in defense, the corners of her mouth shifting upward. "Hey, hey, didn't mean to insult your ladyfriend."

Constantin shakes his head, heat rising up his neck. "She is my fair cousin." He meets Dania's eyes, standing taller. "And you will find no reason to insult her."

"It's hers, innit?" Once again she points at his watch, and he realises that he is holding onto the case. "She gave it to you."

She smiles when he nods. He isn't sure if it is a belittling smile, but he does not press the issue, handing her the bag of coins instead. 

Then he draws in a sharp breath as he feels a presence at his back. 

"Good day," De Sardet says. 

"Ah, this is a wonderful opportunity to introduce you! I mean, hello, fair cousin, it’s lovely to see you! So, if I may - cousin, this is Dania."

To his surprise Dania even manages a half-smile and a quick nod. 

"I am De Sardet, niece of..." She stops, looking at Constantin as if to ask for permission to introduce herself. 

Dania speaks first. "I know, girl. It's good you're here now. Make sure he gets home, yes? I got things to do." She turns as quickly as usual, yet after a few steps she hesitates and returns. “You’re good at making potions, right? You... got anything for a cough? We used to have an alchemist for that. Banning. Died of the malichor a while ago. Also I’m not begging, I’ll pay.”

De Sardet's gaze flickers to the crowd, no doubt watching for spies or other danger before she nods and reaches into the smallest of her three bags. She pulls out a handkerchief and covers her own hand to take out a small bundle of herbs. “Do you recognize these?" 

Dania nods, looking uncharacteristically abashed. "Got the same from Banning. You get lots of experience when you, uh, work with Nauts. Always come home with anything but the malichor. How much do you want?"

"There is no need for you to pay. I ordered more just a minute ago.” 

Dania studies her for a moment, as if she expects the offer to be trap, but then she presses De Sardet’s hand. Just once, before the takes the herbs. “Thanks.”

Thankfully she refrains from shoving them into her cleavage.

Constantin tilts his head. The man’s name seems familiar, although he cannot put his finger on the reason why. “Say, cousin… Did Sir Banning work for my family?”

“I believe so. I know that he traveled through Gacane for years. I read a few of his books on alchemy, but I had no idea he'd come back.”

“Well, he didn’t bother changing his name, so it wasn’t like he was hiding,” Dania says. “But you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so it’s not like I asked him where he’s from. His medicine helped. So I can't help you more. I’ll be off, then. Don't get poisoned, Princeling."

  
  


“To be honest,” De Sardet whispers once Dania is out of earshot, “Banning was rumored to dabble in poisons. Supposedly he left Sérène for a few years once the rumors became too loud to ignore.”

"Before or after he worked for my mother?" he jests. 

And then he remembers. Father had written Banning's and Mother's names on his list, among others, and he had marked both of them. No wonder, if Banning was a poison master for hire.

_ It is just a coincidence, _ he thinks. _ It has nothing to do with Father. Anyone would want to know who their partner was working with. _

There were more names, but none of them will come to mind. He makes the mistake to groan in frustration.

De Sardet's gaze is on him immediately. "What is wrong?" 

_ Nothing _, he wants to say. "The same as ever."

Of course she does not believe him. Of course she reaches for his hand. 

"I found a note in Father's book. Back when… when he incarcerated me. The book dealt with Gacane's Princes, but he had noted several names that I cannot make sense of. My mother was among them, along with this Sir Banning. It definitely was my father’s handwriting, and he had circled several of the names.”

“For what reason?”

Constantin shrugs. “I am not sure if the matter is worth investigating. It might have been nothing but a coincidence. Some useless note. It wouldn’t be the first.”

There is far more to the memories before their fight. As much as he would love to forget the night hidden in the crawlspace he recalls shards of a conversation. They had spoken of dead prisoners, of Nauts not keeping promises. Of an island called _ Teer Fradee _.

Understanding his parents is not worth the headache, and so he bans all these thoughts to the darkest corner of his mind.

De Sardet stays quiet as she follows him into the bustle. Being here is a risk, yet it is so much better than the horrible enclosed spaces of his home. People shove and push for the most sought-after wares, and he nearly loses sight of her twice before he gets hold of her bag and pulls her to a calmer spot. "So, what is the true reason for your visit?" 

"I noticed that you had left our guards at home and decided to ensure that you are safe. Someone hired an entire group of commoners to corner Lord De Salle last week."

"Well, I was just informed that I look more a street urchin than a noble, so I should be safe from assassins looking for the prince's son."

"Who would claim that? Her?" 

Something in the way she says the word _ her _ lets him shake his head. "Now, do _ you _ believe it?"

"No, of course not. You look- you look just as always, except for your attire. Perfectly fine."

Constantin grins. 

They swerve around a pair of men pushing a wagon of food through the mud. One of them curses, and De Sardet's hand wanders to her hip. 

“What are you keeping in these bags?” he asks. 

“I keep nettles for thieves. The ones not wearing gloves, at the very least."

"You really think of everything!" 

"You can say that once I have found a way to use them as a weapon."

"Which shall be soon, given your knowledge. Imagine Kurt's reaction once you throw a nettle bomb at him!" 

"I doubt Kurt would appreciate that," De Sardet says, but he can see her mind working. 

"He makes his coins teaching us, so he has no right to complain. It is not as though you would actually poison him."

"Only if he hurt us."

"Do our training sessions count?"

He doesn't expect her to laugh, but De Sardet's somber expression makes him pause. 

"I will do anything for my family," she says. 

Constantin should have been happy about hearing it. Instead her words fill him with a strange sense of dread. Still he rests his hand on her shoulder. "And your family loves you for it."

As much as they are capable of love. 

* * *

  
  


The next years yield even more lessons, demands and dealings with the Congregation.

Constantin trudges along, smiling and keeping both his tongue and his feet still. Father rewards him with a marginally longer leash, allowing him to join meetings again. A certain monotony sets in - but it is still better than silence, and meetings offer the possibility of interesting people to be met.

Whatever Father had hoped for by locking him away with that book, neither of them had lost another word about it. Not that Constantin has any wish to talk about anything but the bare minimum these days; a sentiment his father seems to share. 

The only enjoyable outcome had been the festering contention between his father and his aunt. Well, and a newfound appreciation for unlocked doors. At times Constantin opens them just to know he can. 

To no one's surprise De Sardet adapts perfectly to the court. She eliminates each flaw, each mistake, until all that seems to be left is the epitome of the responsible prodigy his parents had always wanted. 

And Constantin watches, not quite sure whether he is amazed or horrified. 

  
  
  


"Ah, how I missed this magnificent place," Constantin says as he pats the marble balustrade. "We were separated for almost a day, would you believe?" 

De Sardet's brows rise ever so slightly, but she keeps her smile polite. 

"Are you doubting me, fair cousin? This hall has the most beautiful decorations of all. I love the new painting my mother ordered. The light spaces remind me of a dog if I squint."

Her eyes flicker to the wall, then back to him. Naturally it is the same painting as always. Mother had ordered a new one, but it would take weeks before it could decorate the great hall. She huffs.

"Oh, don't mind me. I prefer being here today, knowing that you helped organize the occasion."

"I cannot help but feel that I forgot something important," she says, adjusting her cravat for the third time this evening. As is the case with every formal celebration her hair has been tamed into an elaborate braid, a ribbon tied to the back of her head.

"I would worry if you didn’t."

Constantin looks at the dark circles beneath her eyes. She has hidden them well beneath powder and paint, but ever since she agreed to help her mother with the preparations De Sardet has been on edge - and yet she refuses to share her thoughts with him. She holds her head high and smiles at him, just like she does for everyone else. 

He hates it.

The sound of laughter and heels on marble announces the arrival of more guests. De Sardet and Constantin smile as they pass. Most nod politely, a few greetings are exchanged, then they continue on their way. Yet there are always those who shamelessly stare at De Sardet's mark. 

"Oh, new friends," he says.

As a child he had believed that adults did not care for trivialities like birthmarks or a slightly askew hat. Looking back his naiveté was quite embarrassing, for adults are just as scared of the unknown as children, only they have learnt to keep their dastardly opinions to themselves for a little while longer. 

"Do not carry it too far, Constantin."

"I will control myself. Thank you, Mother."

She makes a wry face. 

"Don't fear any more scuffles, fair cousin. I am no longer five years old. My parents might fail to notice, but that doesn't make it less true." Neither has he forgotten the week spent in isolation, much as he would like to. He would bite off his own tongue before admitting it to his parents.

"Their looks do not matter to me.”

He wants to believe her. To the people down at the dining hall she looks calm, her posture straight with her arms behind her back. One of her hands grasps the other, and her grip is so strong that her nails are turning white. 

She looks surprised when Constantin offers her his arm. "So, does Lady De Sardet’s perfectly timed schedule include a dance with her cousin?"

Her eyes flicker to him, then to the dancing pairs swaying to the tunes. Perhaps it is his hope speaking, but he believes a soft flush spreading down to her neck. Yet her hesitation is answer enough.

"They will believe we are too close," she whispers so quietly that he can barely hear her.

"Are we?"

De Sardet’s eyes go wide. "No, of course not."

Constantin claps his hands. "Come, then, our guests deserve a proper welcome." He struts over to greet the latecomers. 

Again the animated chatter dies down just to be replaced with polite smiles and greetings. He wonders how many of them share his father’s views, how many are searching for new flaws to pick apart.

“Lady De Sardet!” Two women shuffle toward them, neither of whom Constantin has ever seen.

Unlike him De Sardet seems to have found a few genuine friends, ever the diplomat amongst a sea of snakes. If they actually cared to look past her courtesies and her poise they would see that her feigned smiles are for enemies and allies alike.

But everyone at court flocks to the rich and powerful, so even he finds peers to waste his time with.

And so they chat about the weather and the food and the music being played, and under normal circumstances Constantin would enjoy the company. Today, however, his father is surrounded by many of his most valued trading partners. They are standing at the opposite end of the hall, but Constantin has suffered through enough councils to know what they talk of. The sniveling bootlickers read all of Lord d'Orsay's moods, and so they see the disdain in his eyes - and what could be easier than bonding over a shared enemy? 

His attention is drawn back to his own group when Lady Hancey opens her mouth. "I was surprised to hear that Lady Maley was not invited," she says.

There is a flicker of fear in De Sardet's eyes as her gaze snaps to him.

For all he hates the Court Constantin has perfected one of its lessons. He has learned to smile, and humor is both armor and a weapon, for there is a certain advantage tied to the reputation of being a moron. 

"Oh, _ now _I know what I forgot! Please tell Lady Moley that I am terribly sorry. I have been very busy recently, you see, so I must have overlooked her name as I wrote the invitation letters."

"Lady Maley," Hancey corrects him, and her smile tells him that Lady Maley will hear of his insolence. It matters not. 

"Yes, of course. I met someone with a very similar name once. She had the charm of a cuttlefish, but her voice was magnificent. Oh, I was talking about the other woman, not Lady Moley." 

More than one guest hides their amusement behind a fan or a well-practiced smile.

When he turns to look for De Sardet she is already gone. 

"Who was the other woman?" a young man asks.

"Oh, what you really mean to ask is whether she was a lady of the night, no?" Constantin smirks. Outrageous sexual adventures captivate even more listeners than social mishaps, and so he spends the rest of the evening telling half-truths and listening to stories that sound increasingly fictitious. 

Lady Hancey sends him sullen looks from time to time, but he only sips at his drink and smiles obtusely.

Another unfortunate affair, but such is to be expected from the irreverent son.

  
  
  
  


That night Constantin wakes up to a soft knock on his window.

De Sardet stands at the entrance, her posture unnaturally stiff. He moves back to his bed and pats the space next to him. Her eyes never meet his, lingering on the door as if contemplating escape.

Finally she sits down and curls her fingers into fists, pressing them against her knees. "I should have taken responsibility," she murmurs. "I shouldn't have let you take the blame again. I know you did."

"Do not worry about me. I had no wish to become friends with Lady Hancey or the Maley, anyhow. Oh, and for once your dear mother saved me from punishment. She was the one who asked you to help, no?"

De Sardet nods - and digs her nails into her palms.

He catches her by the wrist. De Sardet flinches, looking at him like a frightened deer, and he immediately releases her. "And this was caused by a rabid squirrel?"

She shakes her head.

"Ravenous rats, then?" A tired attempt at humor, and she does not smile. 

He worries at his lower lip before he slides one hand towards her, his palm facing up. After a slight pause she lays her hand in his. Her skin shows marks left by her own nails, as if she had pressed them over and over into her hand until it bled.

Constantin struggles to find the right words. Anything but _ why would you do this? _ How had he not noticed it earlier?

"You are the Prince's son," she says.

"I am well aware. What does this have to do with- with this?"

"What I mean to say is that you are more important than I could ever be. If I want to stay– If… If I want to stay valuable to the court I cannot afford any missteps."

His stomach drops. "You have never failed, fair cousin."

"Neither have you," she says, and Constantin cannot help but laugh, bitterness welling up in his throat. 

"Oh, please. I am not one of your diplomats you can simply lie to."

She reaches out and shakes him by the shoulders. "You are not a failure, Constantin. I would never believe them, and neither should you."

It is nice to hear her say it. He has the urge to lean forward, but instead he takes her hands, avoiding her gaze. Perhaps to have her feel sorry for him a little longer. To make up for the lack of _ her _ during the past few months. 

Then his thumbs feel the scrapes again and he curses his fit of selfishness. "Who told you that you needed to be _ valuable _ to them to be allowed to stay? Your mother loves you, and so do my parents. Gods, they even keep _ me _." 

"Be that as it may, I just fled and left you to deal with the consequences."

"Cousin, nothing happened. It was just a name!" 

"No, Constantin." She sighs. "A person. A guest I forgot. Someone who might take this to heart and remember the slight in the future."

"What could they do even if they doubted me? I am a prince, whether they like it or not. What else is this title good for?" He inhales deeply. "Are you really planning to give in to them and their ridiculous standards?" 

"If the alternative is them hurting you, yes."

"What does this have to do with me?" he asks, anger flaring up. "Did Father threaten to throw you to the wolves if you refused to become my personal guardian?" 

"No," she says, avoiding his eyes. "Not exactly."

"Do you believe you can decide in my stead? Whatever became of speaking your mind? Weren't you the one to tell me that ignoring one another is not an option?" 

She has the decency to blush. "I am not ignoring you."

"We have both heard quite enough lies for one night, wouldn’t you say? Why do you keep rejecting my offers to…" _ To touch you _, he nearly says, but the words sound strangely obscene even in his mind. "To dance with you?"

With a stiff movement she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I worry about rumors." 

"Oh, such as me wooing my tutors and bedding wenches since my thirteenth year?"

“I do not care about _ everyone’s _ rumors. I care about what my family believes." 

"That I _ have been _ wooing my tutors and bedding wenches since my thirteenth year?" 

She sighs. "For once I am not talking about you.”

An uncomfortable silence settles between them, and he has no idea how to dispel it.

Somehow they are changing, and the thought her becoming one of the _ others _ haunts him more than the memories of his confinement. 

"Your refusal to ask for help is both admirable and disheartening," he murmurs.

"I’m sorry," she whispers. "I did not want to trouble you any further." 

"I do not need you to coddle me, cousin." He spreads his arms. "Oh, but something good came out of this! At long last your mother and I have settled our differences. She approved of me shouldering the blame. She didn’t outright say so, but I finally might have a chance at redemption."

Constantin doubts that his aunt would ever forgive him for interfering with her plans, but he had noted a certain appreciation in Princess De Sardet's eyes once she had understood what he had done.

De Sardet exhales silently, her shoulders sagging. Finally she nods and leans against him, and he carefully slides his arms around her shoulder, afraid that she will pull away again. He used to be able to make her smile, but now all he can do is to comfort her and hope for the best.

"Let's visit the market tomorrow," he says. "Only for a day." 

Away from the prying eyes and vile intrigues their family keeps dragging them into. It is his sanctuary, so he prays it will be hers, too. 

  
  
  


He jumps out of bed the moment he hears her knock. She is already dressed for a day at the market - a day as a fashionable noble socialite. He ushers her inside, towards his wardrobe. At its bottom sits his private treasure chest, and he grins at her curious expression when he hands her the key. 

Her reaction is not as positive as he had hoped. "We are too old to play pretend."

"You, perhaps, but I will enjoy myself. Besides, pretending is all we do these days, or do you really care about Lady Goodwin's new shoes or Lord Belen's third anniversary of trading with the Nauts up North?"

She cautiously reaches for one of the hats.

"Now where is the young lady who threatened her cousin with a stolen sword? Did you lose her at Court?"

They exchange a short glance. Constantin smiles when she starts rummaging. 

Commoners' clothes rarely have the bright and saturated colors that the merchants can afford, and the amount of items that fit her is close to zero. 

He stifles a laugh when she finally takes her pick, an oversized beige linen shirt. It is obviously meant for a man much taller and bulkier than her, though De Sardet insists that it is the best shirt his collection had to offer.

"I never bought these with someone else in mind. We will find something befitting a lady such as you today."

Strangely she hesitates, staring at the clothes in her hands. "I forgot something in my room. I will be back," she finally says. 

Ah.

He nods awkwardly, turns and waits until she has left before he dons his own outfit. Then he stacks up his hats until she returns, now wearing the oversized shirt with one of her belts. A red and a dark green bag are bound to it. Her sleeves are longer than her arms, though at least they do not seem to bother her as she looks at herself in the mirror. 

"You look amazing, fair cousin," he says, and he keeps his innocent look even when she glares at him. 

It is no outright lie, though it has less to do with her current attire. 

"I look like I fell into a potato sack and cut a hole for my head.” She pulls at the hem of her shirt. 

"Now don't be so modest. You are wearing a potato sack with a beautiful belt." He hopes it will keep the fabric in place, for her sake as well as his own. He looks away. 

De Sardet huffs and reaches for one of the shawls, but Constantin stops her. "The weather is too nice to hide your face, cousin. Mother's spies will be watching us, anyhow. Let's go."

  
  
  


"Do you carry a knife, should a Naut decide to try their hand at abducting us?"

"Historically speaking they caused few serious fights caused by kidnapping."

"Of course not. Why fight against the law when you can easily use it to your profit?" His voice must be tinged with hostility, for De Sardet casts an unsure glance in his direction. With a pang of guilt he quickly steers towards cheerfulness. "Besides, who could be dense enough to write down their own crimes?" 

She feigns a thoughtful expression, tapping her finger on her chin. "Sir De Courcillon?" 

He huffs. "Mutiny by his favorite student? I am shocked and dismayed, Lady De Sardet."

She smiles. 

They pass the first taverns and merchants selling wares from the countryside. Cucumbers, cherries, strawberries and eggplants have been stacked up along the roads, coloring the city with specks of red, green and yellow. They push their way to the stall.

He would love to try them all, while De Sardet declines most of his offers to share. He never understood her disdain for lemon cake, or her captious taste for food in general. 

To his stomach’s suffering and protests Constantin loves most food. After too many of her leftovers he comes to regret his overindulgence. They retreat to one of the calmer back alleys. 

De Sardet reaches into one of her pouches and hands him a few berries. "Chew on these. They should help."

They look far better than they taste. He almost chokes as an atrocious flavor fills his mouth, and he makes sure to send an accusatory look her way. 

"View it as Lady Rehan's belated vengeance," she says, smiling apologetically at the curious people. Then she takes one of the berries into her mouth. She promptly spits it out. 

At least she is right about their effectiveness. 

  
  


They walk past the steps that lead them to Sérène's trenches. The city wall incident had been an interesting experience, and few moments in the years afterwards had caused such a rush of unbridled excitement. The steps had since been removed, but the wall itself still stands as an everlasting reminder of their adventure. 

"You hadn't climbed half of the way. You would have fallen," De Sardet says, as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. 

"Vicious lies and slander. I went back to rescue _ you _, fair cousin. Before that my climb had been going exceptionally well." He feels her gaze at his back, but he pretends not to notice.

  
  


They stop at several stalls offering fabrics and simple clothes. Her first objective seems to be a new shirt, and she quickly finds a passable one that does not pass as a potato sack.

"Now you need a fitting hat," Constantin says. 

Their search quickly evolves into a game of finding the most grotesque item among the wares. It feels like they are children again, combing through every wardrobe of their home. He wins with a garish red and pink bonnet, and she laughs even when the merchant shoos them away.

"I changed my mind," he says breathlessly, "you look good enough without one."

"Good enough? What a nice compliment," she says, but her eyes are still full of laughter. 

It is true, however. Other girls dedicated their lives to turn into elegant women. Pretty dresses with matching accessories, all according to the latest fashion. Not a single strand of hair that isn't fixed in place. And they _ are _ pretty, of course, some nobles or the girl selling hats at the pier, though he had seen her peeking at the young Naut woman buying another tricorn. 

De Sardet is not beautiful. Not exactly. 

Not with her silly habit of sticking out her tongue a tiny bit when she is too absorbed in a book, or the way her smile turns slightly lopsided when she believes she is about to win.

But her eyes light up with joy whenever she is away from the court, and only he gets to see her that way. 

His gaze travels lower, down to her belt and her hips before he catches himself. 

"Ah, we- we finally have arrived!" he calls, hoping that the chattering crowd around them is loud enough to hide his stammer. 

"Leather wares?" De Sardet tilts her head. "You mean to buy gloves?" 

"Not just any gloves. The best gloves you can find in this city!" He winks at the merchant. "My friend here used to work for my mother’s friend, you see. Now try these!"

Constantin lets her choose the prettiest pair, covering the price tag with his hands when she attempts to check. They even find a fitting hat with a golden feather that matches the linings of her glove impeccably. She even buys another leather bag for their belongings.

He smirks when the merchant offers them a discount and her face light up with mirth. She grins back, and for a moment all he wants is to kiss her. 

Constantin laughs at the notion. No. He wants everything go back to what it was before, as adorable as she is.

On their way back home he does his best to focus on anything but her. Lingers every so often to look at little trinkets and the occasional artwork. "Say, do you believe Kurt will continue rejecting my advances if I gift him one of these?" He points at a carved set of dice. 

"Kurt will refuse anything that isn't gold." Her smile fades. "What sort of advances are you talking about?"

He grins. "Oh, mere companionship, of course. He already rejected me many moons ago. It turns out that he isn't one to appreciate nightly serenades."

“What-” De Sardet starts, but Constantin stops listening. A bit further down the road is Dania, carrying a child in her arms. The girl gestures wildly with her arms, as if telling the most exciting story in the world, and judging by Dania's expression she is. Next to them stands a young Naut, watching the two with a fond smile. Both the man and the girl share the same tattoo. Sea-given, if memory serves him right. 

Then Dania meets his eyes and her smile falters. Constantin quickly turns, feeling as if he has intruded upon a private moment. 

  
  
  


Just short of the road leading to their residence De Sardet slows to a stop. "Do we still have time?"

He follows her, first through alleyways and then through one of Sérène's sad excuses of a park. No one pays attention to a pair of young commoners, so they quickly leave the road and head into the surrounding thicket.

"I don't remember wandering through here when we were young," he says.

"We didn't. I… Heard rumors about several recently abandoned homes, and…" 

"You trespassed?" Constantin makes no attempt to hide his excitement. "And here I'd thought you had lost your rebellious streak. Did you find anything of value? Money? Any dirty secrets?" 

"Constantin," she glowers, "I would never enter these houses. Just follow me."

He is by no means an experienced tracker, but whoever had trudged the trail into the ground had not used it in a while. Grass and leaves cover the narrow path before them, and on several occasions thorns pierce the thin fabric of his trousers. 

"You are a lifesaver, fair cousin," he says once 

De Sardet comes to his rescue, and he sighs when they reach a wall to climb. 

From there it is just a short tread atop the stone until they arrive at a small courtyard garden. Whoever had lived here must have loved their home. A wealthy merchant would scoff at the size of the property and the overabundance of farmer's tools that have been set up like memorabilia. A simple wooden bench sits beneath a small balcony, and when Constantin squints against the sinking sun he can see thick red curtains behind the windows of the upper floor. 

The only hints of abandonment are the various wilted plants and the barricaded windows on the lower floor. 

De Sardet drops to the ground, right in the middle of a wilted flower bed. He follows with a slightly less elegant landing. 

"Marvelous place," he says, quickly brushing off the dirt. 

She picks up a shovel leaning onto the wall and starts covering their footprints with soil. 

Constantin uses the time to take a closer look at the building. Long vines overgrow the pillars supporting the balcony, and although they are starting to turn brown they withstand a strong jerk with his hands.

He bows dramatically, then holds out his hand. "May I assist the fair lady with her ascent?" 

She stares. 

"What did we walk all this way for, if not for some adventure? We are not breaking in, just climbing up," he says. "And we already missed the romantic sunset."

  
  


A minute later he is sitting on the balcony, trying not to look too pleased as he looks down at the garden. 

By now the shadows of the building swallow most of the afternoon’s light. As if having read his mind De Sardet ignites the lantern on her belt and sets it on the floor beside him. 

Constantin places his watch and dagger next to it. "Do you come here often?"

"This is the third time, and I doubt this place will stay abandoned for long. I… I came here to test a few of my new potions and traps. This city doesn't have much space to do so without thirty sets of eyes watching every of my steps. On some days it is nice to be wherever they are not," she says, looking as if she had just admitted to treason.

"I would worry about anyone who never tires of these people," Constantin says. Whoever _ they _are, she deserves to have some peace. "You kept using our old hideout for a while, no?" 

She nods. "You broke one of the steps."

"How did you know it was me?" 

"Who else would try to climb up to a place like this?"

He clears his throat. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"I know." She leans against the balustrade, looking up at the sky as though she might see anything but clouds covering the stars. "This was a pleasant day."

"This could be a regular occurence." He tries not to sound accusatory, though she picks up on it anyhow.

"It might be." De Sardet tugs at her gloves, curls and uncurls her fingers.

“Do you... do this often?" 

She shakes her head. "Even so, I have healing salves."

_ That is not the issue _, he thinks. "Promise me you will stop. Please. I- I am aware that things are not as simple, of course they aren’t, not here, not with them..." Constantin waves his hand. "Perhaps… try to wear these as a reminder."

Just as he listens to the ticking of his clock.

Her lips twitch, yet her smile does not reach her eyes. "I wish it was as simple as buying a new pair of gloves. But I promise."

Constantin believes it, for her sake alone. On a whim he reaches out and weaves their fingers together, quickly, lest she draws back her hand again. To his surprise she lets her shoulders sag again and leans in. Just yesterday she had seemed so unapproachable, and now she is leaning onto him, close enough to touch the inside of his thigh.

Suddenly steps echo from the front of the mansion. Someone coughs. 

De Sardet immediately pushes herself from the balustrade, bumping against his chest as she stretches to grab her lantern. All she accomplishes in her haste is to get stuck between his legs and beneath his arm, and the flame dies a mere second before the strangers arrive.

Within the blink of an eye Constantin is too aware of her presence and the way she is pressing against him. He makes a small pathetic noise, not quite a laugh but no word either, and grabs her shoulder. 

He cannot push her away, not now. 

_ Not now. _

Constantin takes a deep breath, which only worsens his predicament. De Sardet smells like the spices they sold at the port today, yet undeniably like her. For a moment he only wants to pull her against him and bury his head in the nape of her neck, everyone else be damned. Gods, he hopes she doesn't notice.

He has to focus. 

A beam of light falls onto the stones they had been standing on just a short while ago. The strangers must have stopped right underneath them. It would only take three more steps toward the shack to be spotted.

"Turn off the damn lantern," a voice growls. 

The light flickers, then dies. Someone rattles at the shutters of the patio door.

All of De Sardet's muscles are taught, ready to strike - or flee - and he scoots back, closing his eyes. He thinks of De Courcillon and his father, and their images are revolting enough to shift his attention away from his groin. 

"Heard the owners got the malichor." 

"Isn't that contagious?"

"They're already gone, idiot. And if it was they would've burned the house."

"Not if they'd risk burning down everything around it."

There is a loud creak, and for a second everyone seems to freeze. He can feel De Sardet holding her breath. 

Constantin looks at the pocket watch to his right. Its ticking is unbearably loud in this silence. Slowly, very slowly Constantin reaches for the watch and wraps his hand around it. 

“If they were sure it wasn’t contagious they would have taken everything already,” the second man argues.

“Then run home,” the first voice hisses, although there is a hint of hesitation underneath the bravado. 

There is an incoherent string of mumbled curses and the sound of something heavy slamming into the shutters. 

De Sardet digs her fingers into his leg, yet she makes no attempt at removing herself from his lap. 

Somehow, in spite of his heartbeat racing in his ears, he can hear two pairs of feet stomp to the front of the house, back to wherever they came from.

Farther away a heavy iron gate creaks and falls shut. Then the only sound that still rings through the night is the ticking of his watch. 

Finally, _ finally _ De Sardet dares to move again. "Are you alright?" 

"Yes. You barely weigh anything, fair cousin," he says, even though her elbow is pressing uncomfortably into his stomach. He is alright. Too alright. He wants to laugh. 

"I apologize." She takes hold of his knee to push herself back. "We should leave, just in case they decide to return."

"What could these cowards even do? They are trespassing, just like us.”

“Did you _ look _at us?," she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.

_ Getting rid of the witnesses is an option _, he thinks. 

With unease he notes that it is something his mother would suggest.

They gather their belongings in silence, and De Sardet stays quiet even after they have left the property behind them. It is the last thing he wants for their homeward trip, and so he talks. About Dania, the novel he is reading, the people he has met on the streets. How he snuck into the kitchens, got drunk and decided that Kurt had to know of his appreciation for his teachings.

"You were serious about serenading Kurt?"

"Oh, I was, very much so. He is impressive, after all. Even if you have no mind for melee combat you cannot deny his skills. And his sword polishing-" 

"Have mercy." She hides her face in her hands. 

He stifles a laugh. "If it reassures you, he threw his armored boot at me. Like I was some stray cat, would you believe? He has no heart, especially for his students."

"For once I am glad for it," she mumbles.

"No attempt at defending his honor and his heart? He will be most displeased."

"I shall stay Green Blood no matter what I do."

He sighs. His cousin had never taken to their teacher as much as Constantin, although she would not admit to it. Then again there wasn't much she admitted to without his coaxing these days. 

"Can we agree on a rule, fair cousin?"

There is a short pause. "Yes."

"Do not fear, it is a simple rule: No lies."

"No lies," she repeats slowly. 

"I would say 'No secrets,' but that seems rather impossible, considering our circumstances. Alternatively we will consider this a pledge, a truth for a truth. My father would surely be partial to that." He holds out his hand once again. 

With a deep sigh she takes it. 

Constantin closes his fingers around her palm, lest she withdraws again. They stand like this for a moment. Warmth is spreading through his body from where their hands are joined. It is an absurd reaction. One for lovestruck fools. He stares at the offending hand, willing the sensation away. 

"Now, for a truth: you look amazing, especially with your new gloves."

"Stop practicing your sweet-talking on me."

"No lies," he sings, and she finally smiles. 

And he wants her to look that way at him more often, whether it takes mischief or his disappointed family.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


At seventeen Constantin tries hunting, just like an average young man of his status would. 

He is not fond of the spilled guts and the frenzied barking of the hunting dogs when they corner some poor animal. Many end up as wall decorations, posed to snarl and charge at the inclined viewer, very much unlike the panicked final moments of their lives.

It is a good excuse to get away from his father, however, though of course Prince d’Orsay notices that Constantin is _ remarkably bad _ at bringing home trophies of the dead kind. 

Indeed, Constantin joins the hunting parties for the people and the food - and for De Sardet, who catches animals in her traps each time she sets out, and who hits the mark each time she raises her rifle. Quite an impressive feat, not just because of her marksmanship but because they are accompanied by a young merchant called Algernon, who firmly believes that stories of his favorite kills make for great entertainment.

"Your shot was perfect, Lady De Sardet," Algernon says, stomping his pompous self in-between them. 

De Sardet responds with a slight smile and a nod of her head, watching Algernon bark an order to the animal at his feet. His dog had spent the entire day drooling over anything his slobbery snout could reach, including Constantin's new outfit, but at least it retrieves as well as it drools. 

Another of their hunting companions, a young woman - Alley or Allen or the like - receives them upon their return to the inn.

Constantin belatedly recalls that he has heard her name before, but it is her embroidered dress that takes him back to that fateful day. After more than ten years _ Napkin Girl _ stays true to her style.

He is smarter now, so he offers her a compliment and his most charming smile, and the one she responds with is a lot kinder than he expects. 

"It has been a long time since we last met," Allen says with the slightest hint of a blush. "I cannot recall the exact circumstances, but I know that we… Well, I acted…" 

She seems to struggle with the right choice of words, so Constantin takes pity. 

"Oh, I still recall the event. A terrible misunderstanding! You have nothing to fear! My cousin and I do not hold grudges, my fair lady." 

Allen giggles, and he grins at De Sardet. To his puzzlement there is an edge to her smile.

Like some sort of long remiss punishment it is Lady Allen who spends most of the evening with his cousin.

De Sardet takes great interest in her falcon, a tiny thing bound to Allen with a cord and the promise of minced poults. The bird perches on her gauntlet without a care in the world for the humans around it, and even after Allen removes its hood it makes no attempt at flying away. Yet De Sardet's eyes shine with joy, and Constantin holds his breath when she pulls off her glove to carry the animal with her own hands.

Allen herself seems far more taken with his cousin than with her own bird. Apparently De Sardet has become someone to admire instead of someone to whisper and laugh at.

Her mark had turned into something attractive, and when Allen looks like she wants to touch her mark Constantin’s stomach turns. 

He busies himself with counting the holes their trek had left in his jacket, ignoring Algernon's ungainly grumbling about the superiority of hunting dogs. But Algernon is annoyingly persistent and yaps on for so long that Constantin loses his temper. "Serve them both on a plate, for all I care." 

For a moment Algernon looks like he is about to hit him. Constantin stares back.

It is Allen's bird that saves him from a fight. It flies high up to a tall tree's branch. Algernon decides that he must play the hero for the fair ladies. 

Constantin slinks to his room.

  
  
  


"You could keep your own bird, fair cousin," he says when De Sardet enters his room. "You are aware your mother would let you keep one." 

"It is a peregrine falcon, and I am too busy to raise one, Constantin," she says. "And I fear that Sérène is not the best city for a bird of this kind. I can already imagine what kind of prey he will catch, and I do not want to spend my days arguing with enraged pigeon keepers. Imagine the cost."

"You really want to deny yourself any sort of pleasure, don't you?" 

"I… I had - I _ have fun, _Constantin. With you and the people here."

"Including the girl who took it upon herself to insult you, yes."

De Sardet snorts, though she looks surprised rather than amused. "That was a long time ago." Her hand unconsciously wanders to her cheek; she lowers it once she notices. She remembers just as well. "She apologized, Constantin. Some people are capable of change." 

"Not if their name is d’Orsay," Constantin scoffs and reaches under his bed, fumbling until his hand finds the bottle of wine he had smuggled out of the city, meant as a toast to a successful hunt. Well, it _ had _been successful. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth. 

"All of us change," De Sardet says, softer now. 

"Yes," he says and fills his glass with wine. He half expects her to take it from him, but she stays where she is, leaning against the door of his room. "At long last they noticed that they have no more reason to gossip about your face."

Belatedly he realizes how badly he had phrased the sentence and he wishes she would tell him he's wrong.

She doesn’t. Instead she snaps, "Is there something to gossip about?" 

He wants to reach out, touch the strange but beautiful roots on her jaw with his own hands, but something in her gaze makes him halt. 

"No," he says, lets his hand fall back to his side. "Of course not." He holds out the bottle to her, but De Sardet shakes her head. 

"I have to join the other hunters at noon. We cannot drink all day," she says and turns on her heel.

Constantin drinks straight from the bottle.

* * *

  
  


He declines the next invitation to hunt - not officially, but he coaxes De Sardet into covering him - and sneaks off to the tavern instead. 

The atmosphere is wholly different from both the court and the brothel. Instead of the stench of scented candles or parfum he is greeted by beer and other, far less pleasant odors. His boots, soiled from the street's mud, leave another layer of footprints on the floor. He can feel several people scrutinizing him, although such is to be expected. He tips his hat as he scans the crowd for familiar faces among the patrons. Three men he has seen in Kurt’s company before are loitering at the bar. They are too invested in their conversation to notice him, so Constantin saunters over. One of them looks up as he gets close and narrows his eyes in thought.

Constantin slams his coin purse on the counter. "Drinks for everyone!" 

A few bawdy songs, two atrocious but enthusiastic singers and a tasteless beer later Constantin decides that he loves watching people unwind. How a poor slob's face lights up when he orders another round for everyone. There is an unfortunate misunderstanding with an overly friendly lady who believes that he is inclined towards buying mistresses, but their conversation is cut short by one of Kurt’s friends dragging him away. 

"Ever been to the Coin Guard arena?" he asks and grins when Constantin shakes his head. 

Soon he is stuck between men and women shouting their support for the fighters, unable to look away as two men circle each other, weapons raised, ready to strike. He imagines the crowd cheering for the handsome young noble, once they realized that they had underestimated his skills. 

By the time he is watching his third fight he has decided to refrain from fighting. Even though he bets on the wrong person twice he applauds, right until the crowd parts to make way for a rather bemused newcomer. 

Kurt grabs his shoulder, ignoring the surrounding onlookers.

"That was quite the dramatic entrance, my friend," Constantin says. "You are a sight to behold!"

Kurt's grip tightens. "You have no business being here."

"Well, it is not as though this place was my first choice. You could have let me into _ your _tavern."

"No," Kurt says, and drags him home.

  
  


When Constantin visits again he is welcomed with applause and a rough but well-meant pat on the back. No one knows his name, but they recognize the person who donated his coins for free drinks. Some people note that his manner of speech is _ snotty _, as they call it, yet to them he is nothing more than a well-heeled youngster who tells amusing stories. 

He quickly learns what taverns he needs to avoid because Kurt and his men visit, which ones have the friendliest - and most attractive - regulars and the best beer, and which servants could be bribed to stay quiet about his nightly departures. It is wonderful, really.

* * *

  
  
  


"Rumors have been making their rounds,” Mother says as she presses the sigil into the soft wax of yet another letter.

Constantin places his hand over his heart. "What shocking news, Mother! I never would have expected people to talk. What have I done this time? Besides the usual harlotry, of course." 

She ignores his attempt at humor, just like she always does, and wordlessly opens the drawer of her desk. "I would like you to do me a favor, Constantin. Read this list."

Mother values favors as much as mercy. She knows trade and threats, all kinds of them.

He recognizes several names, merchants of Sérène and a few from nearby cities. 

"Do you recall any of these people?" she asks.

Constantin licks his lips. "Possibly."

The last names on the paper let him halt. Mother has listed several women from the brothel at the docks. Among them is Dania. It had been months since they had last met. Had Dania told his mother about their meetings she would have interfered much earlier. Gods, he hopes it is mere coincidence.

"Once again you have more connections than I could ever imagine,” he says. “Are you sure that you need me to build a bridge to these people?"

"I do not know all of them, so yes, you would be of help. Many are lowborn and might appreciate your personality. And what you do not take will be taken by someone else. Right under your nose, if you are inattentive."

Lowborn. What a funny word to use, when Mother herself had been born a commoner, albeit a moderately wealthy one. "You believe that people would tell a stranger of their machinations? Alcohol and other bribery can do a lot, but it cannot perform miracles, Mother."

"Not if you stay as subtle as you are now, no. You are calling for trouble, although I would wager that is precisely why you are doing it."

Constantin swallows the anger threatening to surge. "Thank you for worrying about me, dearest mother."

She nods, oblivious to his sarcasm. "Your father will be less pleased than I am, so if I were you I would abstain from spending half my income on drunkards and prostitutes."

"He still has no idea?"

"Your father cannot and should not know everything, Constantin," she says, and he does not know if it is meant to be a comfort or a threat. 

Not that it matters. 

"Should I fail to find or meet any of these people you will have to use one of your other spies. I hope the matter isn’t time-bound." 

"We have an agreement, then."

_ We_.

Constantin crosses his arms. "Shall I send reports every month? Every evening, perhaps?" 

"A report at the end of each week should suffice. Your lady friends have more power than you believe, provided they are pretty and charming enough. It is rather impressive to see who they attract with their business."

Oh, he believed her, but he would not grant her the courtesy of saying so. Especially when she believes that he is one of the men who have to pay for sexual favors. “Say, Mother… do you know a man called Banning?”

“If so, it would have been a long time ago.” She does not hesitate with her answer, yet there is a sudden sharpness in her gaze that unnerves him. "Has he done anything of note?"

“Oh, I simply overheard drunkards’ talk. He died a few years back, but it took the commoners a while to find a replacement for him. I can find their new potion master, if you’d like.”

"We have more than enough of those. As long as they act according to law you should pay no mind to them."

As opposed to impoverished prostitutes. 

"Is that all, then?"

She sends him off with a wave. 

"Constantin," she says just before he turns the doorknob. "Do not involve your cousin in your nonsense, or I will have to act."

He flees before she can see his anger. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have anything to say, no matter how tiny or big it is, please do! I'm willing to edit even once i've posted.  
This chapter took me so long because certain parts were cut, changed, ignored and sometimes chosen for the next chapters  
I also struggled a bit the characters here, and I'd love suggestions.  
(you might also have noticed that my previous chapter was edited a little to include a short part about the cousins. This might happen later on. For now: Happy Saint Michaels Day

**Author's Note:**

> Glad to see that you joined me in my trash can. There's just enough space for us.
> 
> I wasn't happy with the lack of characterization (or agency) De Sardet got in the game, especially the "good ending", so I took her and ran. Whether her personality is better than "sponge" is up to you. I'm not here to make judgments on their relationship, I am just having fun writing them. 
> 
> English is not my first language, so please notify me of any mistakes you see. Feel free to leave a comment, they always make me happy! Thank you for your time!


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